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WORKS 


OF 

CHARLES DICKENS. 

<£5lotie station. 


1 lustrated from Designs by Darley and Gilbert 


OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 
SKETCHES.— Part L 


FOUR VOLUMES IN ONE. 



NEW YORK: 

PU3LISHED BY HURD AND HOUGHTON, 
©ambrt&ae * Sktbersttoe $res8. 

1870. 

















































PREFACE. 


In April, 1840, I issued the first number of a new 
weekly publication, price three pence, called Master 
Humphrey’s Clock. It was intended to consist, for 
the most part, of detached papers, but was to include 
one continuous story, to be resumed from time to time 
with such indefinite intervals between each period of 
resumption as might best accord with the exigencies 
and capabilities of the proposed Miscellany. 

The first chapter of this tale appeared in the fourth 
number of Master Humphrey’s Clock, when I had 
already been made uneasy by the desultory character of 
that work, and when, I believe, my readers had thor- 
oughly participated in the feeling. The commencement 
of a story was a great satisfaction to me, and I had 
reason to believe that my readers participated in this 
feeling too. Hence, being pledged to some interruptions 
and some pursuit of the original design, I cheerfully set 
about disentangling myself from those impediments as 
fast as I could ; and — that done — from that time until 
its completion, The Old Curiosity Shop was written 
and published from week to week, in weekly parts. 


VI 


PREFACE. 


When the story was finished, in order that it might 
be freed from the incumbrance of associations £iid inter 
ruptions with which it had no kind of concern, I caused 
the few sheets of Master Humphrey’s Clock, which 
had been printed in connection with it, to be cancelled 
and, like the unfinished tale of the windy night and the 
notary in The Sentimental Journey, they became the 
property of the trunk-maker and the butter-man. I waa 
especially unwilling, I confess, to enrich those respect- 
able trades with the opening paper of the abandoned 
design, in which Master Humphrey described him- 
self and his manner of life. Though I now affect to 
make the confession philosophically, as referring to a 
by-gone emotion, I am conscious that my pen winces 
a little even while I write these words. But it was 
done, and wisely done, and Master Humphrey’s 
Clock, as originally constructed, became one of the 
lost books of the earth — which, we all know, are far 
more precious than any that can be read for love or 
money. 

In reference to the tale itself, I desire to say very 
little here. The many friends it won me, and the 
many hearts it turned to me, when they were full of 
private sorrow, invest it with an interest in my mind 
which is not a public one, and the rightful place of 
which appears to be “a more removed ground.” 

I will merely observe, therefore, that, in writing the 
book, I had it always in my fancy to surround the 
lonely figure of the child with grotesque and wild but 


PREFACE. 


vii 

not impossible companions, and to gather about her 
innocent face and pure intentions, associates as strange 
and uncongenial as the grim objects that are about 
her bed when her history is first foreshadowed. 

.Master Humphrey (before his devotion to the 
trunk and butter business), was originally supposed to 
be the narrator of the story. As it was constructed 
from the beginning, however, with a view to separate 
publication when completed, his demise did not involve 
the necessity of any alteration. 

I have a mournful pride in one recollection associ- 
ated with “ little Nell.” While she was yet upon her 
wanderings, not then concluded, there appeared in a 
literary journal, an essay of which she was the prin- 
cipal theme, so earnestly, so eloquently, and tenderly 
appreciative of her and of all her shadowy kith and 
kin, that it would have been insensibility in me, if 1 
could have read it without an unusual glow of pleas- 
ure and encouragement. Long afterwards, and when 
I had come to know him well, and to see him stout 
of heart going slowly down into his grave, I knew th« 
writer of that essay to be Thomas Hood. 




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<JBlo6e t£bition 


CONTENTS. 

THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP, Vol. I. . 
“ “ “ “ Vox,. II. . 

“ “ “ “ Vol. III. . 

REPRINTED PIECES: — 


P*OB 

. 1 - - :m 

. 1 — 2<Hi 
. 1—209 


The Long Voyage . .213 

The Begging-Letter Writer . . . 227 

A Child’s Dream of a Star 238 

Our English Watering-Place 243 

Our French Watering-Place *256 

Bill-Sticking . 275 

4 ‘ Births. Mrs. Meek of a Son ” 292 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 

SEVEN SKETCHES FROM OUR PARISH. 
CHAPTER I. 

The Beadle. The Parish Engine. The Schoolmaster . » .11 

CHAPTER II. 

The Curate. The Old Lady. The Half-Pay Captain » 


18 


CONTENTS. 


The Four Sisters 

CHAPTER III. 

FAO* 

2d 

The Flection for Beadle . 

CHAPTER IV. 

32 


CHAPTER V. 

. 41 

The Ladies’ Societies 

CHAPTER VI. 

. 54 

Our Next-Door Neighbor 

CHAPTER VII. 



SCENES. 


The Streets — Morning 

CHAPTER I. 

. 71 

The Streets — Night 

CHAPTER II. 


Shops and their Tenants 

CHAPTER III. 

85 

Scotland Yard . 

CHAPTER IV. 

. HI 

Seven Dials 

CHAPTER V 


CHAPTER VI. 

Meditations in Monmouth Street 

. m 

Hackney-Coach Stands 

CHAPTER VII. 

. 1 12 

Doctors’ Commons . 

CHAPTER VIII. 

. ns 

I/ondon Recreations . 

CHAPTER IN. 

. 125 

The Iiiver 

CHAPTER X. 

. 132 


CONTENTS. vil 

CHAPTER XI. PAoa 

Astley’s . 14 a 

CHAPTER XII. 

Greenwich Fair . . . y 15C 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Private Theatres 1GI 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Vauxhall Gardens by Day 1G9 

CHAPTER XV. 

Early Coaches . . 1TG 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Omnibuses . .184 

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Last Cab-Driver and the First Omnibus-Cab .... 189 
CHAPTER XVIII. 

A Parliamentary Sketch 202 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Public Dinners . . . . 217 

CHAPTER XX. 

The First of May 225 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Brokers’ and Marine-Store Shops .... . 285 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Gin-Shops ... 211 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

The Pawnbroker’s Shop 213 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Criminal Courts 253 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A. Visit to Newgate 2G1 


CONTENTS. 


viii 


CHARACTERS. 



CHAPTER 1. 



PAG* 

Thoughts about People . 

CHAPTER II. 

• • 

• 

. 2*4 

A Christmas Dinner 

CHAPTER III. 



. 200 

The New Year 

CHAPTER IV. 



. 207 

Miss Evans and the Eagle 

CHAPTER V. 




The Parlor Orator . 

CHAPTER VI. 




The Hospital Patient 

CHAPTER VII. 



. 317 


The Misplaced Attachment of Mr. John Dounee .... 322 


CHAPTER VIII. 

The Mistaken Milliner. A Tale of Ambition . . .330 


THE 


OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER I. 

Although I am an old man, night is generally my 
time for walking. In the summer I often leave home 
early in the morning, and roam about fields and lanes all 
day, or even escape for days or weeks together ; but, 
saving in the country, I seldom go out until after dark, 
though, Heaven be thanked, I love its light and feel the 
cheerfulness it sheds upon the earth, as much as any 
creature living. 

I have fallen insensibly into this habit, both because it 
favors my infirmity, and because it affords me greater 
opportunity of speculating on the characters and occupa- 
tions of those who fill the streets. The glare and hurry 
of broad noon are not adapted to idle pursuits like mine ; 
a glimpse of passing faces caught by the light of a street- 
lamp, or a shop-window, is often better for my purpose 
than their full revelation in the daylight ; and, if I must 
add the truth, night is kinder in this respect than day, 
which too often destroys an air-built castle at the mo- 
ment of its completion, without the least ceremony or 
remorse. 

That constant pacing to and fro, that never-ending 


10 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


restlessness, that incessant tread of feet wearing the 
rough stones smooth and glossy — is it not a wonder 
how the dwellers in narrow ways can bear to hear it ! 
Think of a sick man, in such a place as Saint Martin’s 
Court, listening to the footsteps, and, in the midst of pain 
and weariness, obliged, despite himself (as though it were 
a task he must perform) to detect the child’s step from 
the man’s, the slipshod beggar from the booted exquisite, 
the lounging from the busy, the dull heel of the saunter- 
ing outcast from the quick tread of an expectant pleas- 
ure-seeker — think of the hum and noise being always 
present to his senses, and of the stream of life that 
will not stop, pouring on, on, on, through all his restless 
dreams, as if he were condemned to lie, dead but con- 
scious, in a noisy church-yard, and had no hope of rest 
for centuries to come ! 

Then, the crowds forever passing and repassing on 
the bridges (on those which are free of toll at least) 
where many stop on fine evenings looking listlessly down 
upon the water, with some vague idea that by and by it 
runs between green banks which grow wider and wider 
until at last it joins the broad vast sea — where some 
halt to rest from heavy loads, and think, as they look 
over the parapet, that to smoke and lounge away one’s 
life, and lie sleeping in the sun upon a hot tarpaulin, in 
a dull, slow, sluggish barge, must be happiness unalloyed 
— and where some, and a very different class, pause with 
leavier loads than they, remembering to have heard 
or read in some old time that drowning was not a hard 
death, but of all means of suicide the easiest and best. 

Covent Garden Market at sunrise too, in the spring 
or summer, when the fragrance of sweet flowers is in 
the air, overpowering even the unwholesome steams of 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


11 


last night’s debauchery, and driving the dusky thrush, 
whose cage has hung outside a garret-window all night 
long, half mad with joy ! Poor bird ! the only neigh- 
boring thing at all akin to the other little captives, some 
of whom, shrinking from the hot hands of drunken pur- 
chasers, lie drooping on the path already, while others, 
soddened by close contact, await the time when they shall 
be watered and freshened up to please more sober com- 
pany, and make old clerks who pass them on their road 
to business wonder w T hat has filled their breasts with vis- 
ions of the country. 

But my present purpose is not to expatiate upon my 
walks. The story I am about to relate, arose out of one 
of these rambles ; and thus I have been led to speak of 
them by way of preface. 

One night I had roamed into the city, and was walk- 
ing slowly on in my usual way, musing upon a great 
many things, when I was arrested by an inquiry the pur- 
port of which did not reach me, but which seemed to be 
addressed to myself, and was preferred in a soft sweet 
voice that struck me very pleasantly. I turned hastily 
round, and found at my elbow a pretty little girl, who 
pegged to be directed to a certain street at a considerable 
distance, and indeed in quite another quarter of the 
town. 

“ It is a very long way from here,” said I, “ my child.” 

“ I know that, sir,” she replied, timidly. “ I am afraid 
it is a very long way ; for I came from there to-night.” 

“ Alone ? ” said I, in some surprise. 

“ Oh yes, I don’t mind that, but I am a little fright- 
ened now, for I have lost my road.” 

“ And what made you ask it of me? Suppose I should 
tell you wrong.” 


12 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


" I am sure you will not do that,”, said the little creat- 
ure, “ you are such a very old gentleman, and walk so 
slow yourself.” 

I cannot describe how much I was impressed by this 
appeal, and the energy with which it was made, which 
brought a tear into the child's clear eye, and made her 
slight figure tremble as she looked up into my face. 

“ Come,” said I, “ I’ll take you there.” 

She put her hand in mine, as confidingly as if she 
had known me from her cradle, and we trudged away 
together : the little creature accommodating her pace to 
mine, and rather seeming to lead and take care of me 
than I to be protecting her. I observed that every now 
and then she stole a curious look at my face as if to 
make quite sure that I was not deceiving her, and that 
these glances (very sharp and keen they were too) 
seemed to increase her confidence at every repetition. 

For my part, my curiosity and interest were, at least, 
equal to the child’s ; for child she certainly was, although 
I thought it probable from what I could make out, that 
her very small and delicate frame imparted a peculiar 
youthfulness to her appearance. Though more scantily 
attired than she might have been, she was dressed with 
perfect neatness, and betrayed no marks of poverty or 
neglect. 

“ Who has sent you so far by yourself? ” said L 

“ Somebody who is very kind to me, sir.” 

“ And what have you been doing ? ” 

“ That, I must not tell,” said the child. 

There was something in the manner of this reply 
which caused me to look at the little creature with an 
involuntary expression of surprise; for I wondered what 
Kind of errand it might be, that occasioned k er to be pre- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


13 


pared for questioning. Her quick eye seemed to read 
my thoughts. As it met mine, she added that there was 
no harm in what she had been doing, but it was a great 
secret — a secret which she did not even know, herself* 

This was said with no appearance of cunning or de- 
ceit, but with an unsuspicious frankness that bore th 
impress of truth. She walked on, as before' : growin 
more familiar with me as we proceeded, and talking 
cheerfully by the way, but she said no more about her 
home, beyond remarking that we were going quite a new 
road and asking if it were a short one. 

While we were thus engaged, I revolved in my mind 
a hundred different explanations of the riddle, and re- 
jected them every one. I really felt ashamed to take 
advantage of the ingenuousness or grateful feeling of the 
child, for the purpose of gratifying my curiosity. I love 
these little people ; and it is not a slight thing when 
they, who are so fresh from God, love us. As I had felt 
pleased, at first, by her confidence, I determined to de- 
serve it, and to do credit to the nature which had 
prompted her to repose it in me. 

There was no reason, however, why I should refrain 
from seeing the person who had inconsiderately sent her 
to so great a distance by night and alone ; and, as it was 
not improbable that if she found herself near home she 
might take farewell of me and deprive me of the oppor- 
tunity, I avoided the most frequented ways and took the 
most intricate. Thus it was not until we arrived in the 
street itself that she knew where we were. Clapping 
her hands with pleasure, and running on before me for a 
short distance, my little acquaintance stopped at a door, 
and remaining on the step till I came up, knocked at it 
when I joined her. 


14 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


A part of this door was of glass, unprotected by any 
shutter ; which I did not observe, at first, for all was 
very dark and silent within, and I was anxious (as in- 
deed the child was also) for an answer to our summons. 
When she had knocked twice or thrice, there was a noise 
as if some person were moving inside, and at length a 
faint light appeared through the glass which, as it ap- 
proached very slowly — the bearer having to make his 
way through a great many scattered articles — enabled 
me to see, both what kind of person it was who ad- 
vanced, and what kind of place it was through which 
he came. 

He was a little old man with long gray hair, whose 
face and figure, as he held the light above his head and 
looked before him as he approached, I could plainly see. 
Though much altered by age, I fancied I could recognize 
in his spare and slender form something of that delicate 
mould which I had noticed in the child. Their bright 
blue eyes were certainly alike, but his face was so deeply 
furrowed, and so very full of care, that here all resem- 
blance ceased. 

The place through which he made his way at leisure, 
was one of those receptacles for old and curious things 
which seem to crouch in odd corners of this town, and 
to hide their musty treasures from the public eye in jeal- 
ousy and distrust. There were suits of mail, standing 
like ghosts in armor, here and there ; fantastic carvings 
brought from monkish cloisters ; rusty weapons of vari- 
ous kinds ; distorted figures in china, and wood, and iron ; 
and ivory ; tapestry and strange furniture that might have 
been designed in dreams. The haggard aspect of the 
little old man was wonderfully suited to the place ; he 
might have groped among old churches, and tombs, and 


TIIE OLD CUJEUOSITY SHOP. 


15 


deserted houses, and gathered all the spoils with his own 
hands. There was nothing in the whole collection but 
was in keeping with himself ; nothing that looked older 
or more worn than he. 

As he turned the key in the lock, he surveyed me 
with some astonishment, which was not diminished when 
he looked from me to my companion. The door being 
opened, the child addressed him as her grandfather, and 
told him the little story of our companionship. 

“ Why bless thee, child,” said the old man patting her 
on the head, “ how couldst thou miss thy way — what if 
I had lost thee, Nell ! ” 

“ I would have found my way back to you , grand- 
father,” said the child boldly ; “ never fear.” 

The old man kissed her ; then turned to me and begged 
me to walk in. I did so. The door was closed and 
locked. Preceding me with the light, he led me through 
the place I had already seen from without, into a small 
sitting-room behind, in which was another door opening 
into a kind of closet, where I saw a little bed that a fairy 
might have slept in : it looked so very small and was so 
prettily arranged. The child took a candle and tripped 
into this little room, leaving the old man and me to- 
gether. 

“ You must be tired, sir,” said he as he placed i chair 
near the fire, “ how can I thank you ? ” 

“ By taking more care of your grandchild another 
time, my good friend,” I replied. 

“ More care ! ” said the old man in a shrill voice 
u more care of Nelly ! why who ever loved a child as 
[ love Nell?” 

He said this with such evident surprise, that I was 
perplexed what answer to make ; the more so, b 'cause 


16 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


coupled with something feeble and wandering in his 
manner, there were, in his face, marks of deep and 
anxious thought, which convinced me that he could not 
be, as I had been at first inclined to suppose, in a state 
of dotage or imbecility. 

“ I don’t think you consider ” — I began. 

“ I don’t consider ! ” cried the old man interrupting 
me, 64 1 don’t consider her ! ah how little you know of 
the truth ! Little Nelly, little Nelly ! ” 

It would be impossible for any man, — I care not what 
his form of speech might be, — to express more affection 
than the dealer in curiosities did, in these four words. I 
waited for him to speak again, but he rested his chin upon 
his hand, and shaking his head twice or thrice fixed his 
eyes upon the fire. 

While we were sitting thus, in silence, the door of the 
closet opened, and the child returned : her light brown 
hair hanging loose about her neck, and her face flushed 
with the haste she had made to rejoin us. She busied 
herself, immediately, in preparing supper. While she 
was thus engaged I remarked that the old man took an 
opportunity of observing me more closely than he had 
done yet. I was surprised to see, that, all this time, 
everything was done by the child, and that there ap- 
peared to be no other persons but ourselves in the 
house. I took advantage of a moment when she was 
absent to venture a hint on this point, to which the old 
man replied that there were few grown persons as trust- 
worthy or as careful as she. 

“ It always grieves me,” I observed, roused by what I 
took to be his selfishness : “ it always grieves me to con- 
template the initiation of children into the ways of life, 
when they are scarcely more than infants. It checks 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


17 


their confidence and simplicity — two of the best quali* 
ties that Heaven gives them — and demands that they 
share our sorrows before they are capable of entering 
into our enjoyments.” 

66 It will never check hers,” said the old man looking 
steadily at me, “ the springs are too deep. Besides the 
children of the poor know but few pleasures. Even 
the cheap delights of childhood must be bought and paid 
for.” 

“ But — forgive me for saying this — you are surely 
not so very poor ” — said I. 

“ She is not my child, sir,” returned the old man. 
“ Her mother was, and she was poor. I save nothing 

— not a penny — though I live as you see, but ” — he 
laid his hand upon my arm and leant forward to whisper 

— “ she shall be rich one of these days, and a fine lady. 
Don’t you think ill of me, because j I use her help. She 
gives it cheerfully as you see, and it would break her 
heart if she knew that I suffered anybody else to do for 
me what her little hands could undertake. I don’t con- 
sider ! ” he cried with sudden querulousness, “ why, God 
knows that this one child is the thought and object of 
my life, and yet he never prospers me — no, never ! ” 

At this juncture, the subject of our conversation again 
returned, and the old man motioning to me to approach 
the table, broke off, and said no more. 

We had scarcely begun our repast when there was a 
knock at the door by whieh I had entered ; and Nell : 
bursting into a hearty laugh, whieh I was rejoiced to 
hear, for it was childlike and full of hilarity : said it was 
no doubt dear old Kit come back at last. 

“ Foolish Nell ! ” said the old man, fondling with tier 
hair. “She always laughs at poor Kit.” 

2 


VOL. I. 


18 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


The child laughed again more heartily than before, 
and I could not help smiling from pure sympathy. The 
little old man took up a candle and went to open the 
door. When he came back, Kit was at his heels. 

Kit was a shock-headed shambling awkward lad with 
an uncommonly wide mouth, very red cheeks, a turned-up 
nose, and certainly the most comical expression of face I 
ever saw. He stopped short at the door on seeing a 
stranger, twirled in his hand a perfectly round old hat 
without any vestige of a brim, and, resting himself now 
on one leg, and now on the other, and changing them 
constantly, stood in the door-way, looking into the parlor 
with the most extraordinary leer I ever beheld. I en- 
tertained a grateful feeling towards the boy from that 
minute, for I felt that he was the comedy of the child’s 
life. 

“ A long way, wasn’t it, Kit ? ” said the little old man. 

“ Why then, it was a goodish stretch, master,” returned 
Kit. 

u Did you find the house easily ? ” 

u Why then, not over and above easy, master,” said 
Kit. 

“ Of course you have come back hungry ? ” 

“ Why then, I do consider myself rather so, master,” 
was the answer. 

The lad had a remarkable manner of standing side- 
ways as he spoke, and thrusting his head forward over his 
shoulder, as if he could not get at his voice without that 
accompanying action. I think le would have amused 
one anywhere, but the child’s exquisite enjoyment of his 
oddity, and the relief it was to find that there was some- 
thing she associated with merriment, in a place that ap- 
peared so unsuited to her, were quite irresistible. It was 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


19 


ft great point, too, that Kit himself was flattered by the 
sensation he created, and after several efforts to preserve 
his gravity, burst into a loud roar, and so stood with his 
mouth wide open and his eyes nearly shut, laughing vio- 
lently. 

The old man had again relapsed into his former ab- 
straction and took no notice of what passed ; but I re- 
marked that when her laugh was over, the child’s bright 
eyes were dimmed with tears, called forth by the fulness of 
heart with which she welcomed her uncouth favorite after 
the little anxiety of the night. As for Kit himself (whose 
laugh had been all the time one of that sort which very 
little would change into a cry) he carried a large slice of 
bread and meat, and a mug of beer, into a corner, and 
applied himself to disposing of them with great voracity. 

“ Ah ! ” said the old man turning to me with a sigh as 
if I had spoken to him but that moment, “ you don’t 
know what you say, when you tell me that I don’t con- 
sider her.” 

“ You must not attach too great weight to a remark 
founded on first appearances, my friend,” said I. 

“ No,” returned the old man thoughtfully, “ no. Come 
hither, Nell.” 

The little girl hastened from her seat, and put her arm 
about his neck. 

“ Do I love thee, Nell ? ” said he. “ Say — do I love 
thee, Nell, or no ? ” 

The child only answered by her caresses, and laid her 
head upon his breast. 

“ Why dost thou sob,” said the grandfather, pressing 
her closer to him and glancing towards me. “ Is it be- 
cause thou know’st I love thee, and dost not like that I 
should seem to doubt it by my question? Well, well — 
then let us say I love thee dearly.” 


20 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Indeed, indeed you do,” replied the child with great 
earnestness, “ Kit knows you do.” 

Kit, who in despatching his bread and meat had been 
swallowing two thirds of his knife at every mouthful 
with the coolness of a juggler, stopped short in his oper- 
ations on being thus appealed to, and bawled u Nobody 
isn’t such a fool as to say he doosn’t,” after which he in- 
capacitated himself for further conversation by taking a 
most prodigious sandwich at one bite. 

“ She is poor now,” said the old man patting the child’s 
cheek, “ but, I say again, the time is coming when she 
shall be rich. It has been a long time coming, but it 
must come at last ; a very long time, but it surely must 
come. It has come to other men who do nothing but 
waste and riot. When will it come to me ! ” 

“ I am very happy as I am, grandfather,” said the 
child. 

“ Tush, tush ! ” returned the old man, “ thou dost not 
know — how should’st thou ! ” Then he muttered again 
between his teeth, “The time must come, I am very sure 
it must. It will be all the better for coming late ; ” and 
then he sighed and fell into his former musing state, and 
still holding the child between his knees appeared to be 
insensible to everything around him. By this time it 
wanted but a few minutes of midnight and I rose to go: 
which recalled him to himself. 

u One moment, sir,” he said. “ Now Kit — near mid- 
night, boy, and you still here ! Get home, get home, 
and be true to your time in the morning, for there’s w r ork 
to do. Good-night! There, bid him good-night, Nell, 
%nd let him be gone ! ” 

u Good-night, Kit,” said the child, her eyes lighting 
ap with merriment and kindness. 

“ Good-night, Miss Nell,” returned the boy. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


21 


“ And thank this gentleman,” interposed the old man 
r< but for whose care I might have lost my little girl to- 
night” 

“ No, no, master,” said Kit, “ that won’t do, that 
won’t.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” cried the old man. 

“I’d have found her, master,” said Kit, “I’d have 
found her. I’d bet that I’d find her if she was above 
ground. I would, as quick as anybody, master ! Ha, 
ha, ha ! ” 

Once more opening his mouth and shutting his eyes, 
and laughing like a stentor, Kit gradually backed to the 
door, and roared himself out. 

Free of the room, the boy was not slow in taking his 
departure ; when he had gone, and the child was occu- 
pied in clearing the table, the old man said : 

“ I haven’t seemed to thank you, sir, enough for what 
you have done to-night, but I do thank you, humbly and 
heartily ; and so does she ; and her thanks are better 
worth than mine. I should be sorry that you went away 
and thought I was unmindful of your goodness, or care- 
less of her — I am not indeed.” 

I was sure of that, I said, from what I had seen. 
“ But,” I added, “ may I ask you a question ? ” 

“ Ay, sir,” replied the old man, “ what is it ? ” 

“ This delicate child,” said I, “ with so much beauty 
and intelligence — has she nobody to care for her but 
you ? Has she no other companion or adviser ? ” 

“ No,” he returned, looking anxiously in my face, “ no, 
and she wants no other.” 

“ But are you not fearful,” said I, “ that you may mis 
understand a charge so tender ? I am sure you mean 
well, but are you quite certain that you know how to ex« 


22 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ecute such a trust as this ? I am an old man, like you, 
and I am actuated by an old man’s concern in all that is 
young and promising. Do you not think that what I 
have seen of you and this little creature to-night, must 
have an interest not wholly free from pain ? ” 

“ Sir,” rejoined the old man after a moment’s silence, 
« I have no right to feel hurt at what you say. It is 
true that in many respects I am the child, and she the 
grown person — that you have seen already. But, wak- 
ing or sleeping, by night or day, in sickness or health, 
she is the one object of my care ; and if you knew of 
how much care, you would look on me with different 
eyes, you would indeed. Ah ! it’s a weary life for an 
old man — a weary, weary life — but there is a great 
end to gain, and that I keep before me.” 

Seeing that he was in a state of excitement and im- 
patience, I turned to put on an outer coat which I had 
thrown off, on entering the room : purposing to say no 
more. I was surprised to see the child standing patient- 
ly by, with a cloak upon her arm, and in her hand a hat 
and stick. 

“ Those are not mine, my dear,” said I. 

“ No,” returned the child quietly, “ they are grand- 
father’s.” 

“ But he is not going out to-night.” 

“ Oh yes he is,” said the child with a smile. 

“ And what becomes of you, my pretty one ? ” 

“ Me ! I stay here of course. I always do.” 

I looked in astonishment towards the old man ; but he 
was, or feigned to be, busied in the arrangement of his 
dress. From him, I looked back to the slight gentle 
figure of the child. Alone ! In that gloomy place all 
the long dreary night ! 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


23 


She evinced no consciousness of my surprise, but 
cheerfully helped the old man with his cloak, and, when 
he was ready, took a candle to light us out. Finding 
that we did not follow as she expected, she looked back 
with a smile and waited for us. The old man showed 
by his face that he plainly understood the cause of my 
hesitation, but he merely signed to me with an inclina- 
tion of the head to pass out of the room before him, and 
remained silent. I had no resource but to comply. 

When we reached the door, the child setting down the 
candle, turned to say good-night and raised her face to 
kiss me. Then, she ran to the old man, who folded her 
in his arms and bade God bless her. 

“ Sleep soundly, Nell,” he said in a low voice, “ and 
angels guard thy bed ! Do not forget thy prayers, my 
sweet.” 

“ No indeed,” answered the child fervently, “ they 
make me feel so happy ! ” 

“ That’s well ; I know they do ; they should,” said the 
old man. “ Bless thee a hundred times ! Early in the 
morning I shall be home.” 

“ You’ll not ring twice,” returned the child. “ The 
bell wakes me, even in the middle of a dream.” 

With this, they separated. The child opened the door 
(now guarded by a shutter which I had heard the boy 
put up before he left the house) and with another fare- 
well, whose clear and tender note I have recalled a thou- 
sand times, held it until we had passed out. The old 
man paused a moment while it was gently closed and 
fastened on the inside, and, satisfied that this was done, 
walked on at a slow pace. At the street-corner he 
stopped. Regarding me with a troubled countenance, 
he said that our ways were widely different, and that he 


24 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


must take his leave. I would have spoken, but summon 
ing up more alacrity than might have been expected in 
one of his appearance, he hurried away. I could see, 
that, twice or thrice, he looked back as if to ascertain if 
I were still watching him, or perhaps to assure himself 
that I was not following, at a distance. The obscurity 
of the night favored his disappearance, and his figure 
was soon beyond my sight. 

I remained standing on the spot where he had left 
me: unwilling to depart, and yet unknowing why I 
should loiter there. I looked wistfully into the street 
we had lately quitted, and, after a time, directed my 
steps that way. I passed and repassed the house, and 
stopped, and listened at the door; all was dark, and 
silent as the grave. 

Yet I lingered about, and could not tear myself away : 
thinking of all possible harm that might happen to the 
child — of fires, and robberies, and even murder — and 
feeling as if some evil must ensue if I turned my back 
upon the place. The closing of a door or window in the 
street, brought me before the curiosity-dealer’s once 
more. I crossed the road, and looked up at the house, 
to assure myself that the noise had not come from there. 
No, it was black, cold, and lifeless as before. 

There were few passengers astir ; the street was sad 
and dismal, and pretty well my own. A few stragglers 
from the theatres hurried by, and, now and then, I turned 
aside to avoid some noisy drunkard as he reeled home- 
wards ; but these interruptions were not frequent and 
Boon ceased. The clocks struck one. Still I paced up 
and down, promising myself that every time should be 
the last, and breaking faith with myself on some new 
plea, as often as I did so. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


25 


The more I thought of what the old man had said, 
and of his looks and bearing, the less I could account for 
what I had seen and heard. I had a strong misgiving 
that his nightly absence was for no good purpose. I had 
only come to know the fact through the innocence of the 
child ; and, though the old man was by at the time and 
saw my undisguised surprise, he had preserved a strange 
mystery on the subject and offered no word of explana- 
tion. These reflections naturally recalled again, more 
strongly than before, his haggard face, his wandering 
manner, his restless anxious looks. His affection for the 
child might not be inconsistent with villany of the worst 
kind ; even that very affection was, in itself, an extraor- 
dinary contradiction, or how could he leave her thus? 
Disposed as I was to think badly of him, I never doubted 
that his love for her was real. I could not admit the 
thought, remembering what had passed between us, and 
the tone of voice in which he had called her by her name. 

“ Stay here of course,” the child had said in answer 
to my question, “ I always do ! ” What could take him 
from home by night, and every night ! I called up all 
the strange tales I had ever heard, of dark and secret 
deeds committed in great towns and escaping detection 
for a long series of years. Wild as many of these 
stories were, I could not find one adapted to this mys- 
tery, which only became the more impenetrable, in pro* 
portion as I sought to solve it. 

Occupied with such thoughts as these, and a crowd of 
others all tending to the same point, I continued to pace 
the street for two long hours ; at length, the rain began 
& descend heavily ; and then, overpowered by fatigue 
though no less interested than I had been at first, I en- 
gaged the nearest coach and so got home. A cheerful 


26 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


fire was blazing on the hearth, the lamp burnt brightly, 
my clock received me with its old familiar welcome ; 
everything was quiet, warm, and cheering, and in happy 
contrast to the gloom and darkness I had quitted. 

I sat down in my easy-chair, and falling back upon its 
ample cushions, pictured to myself the child in her bed : 
alone, unwatched, uncared for, (save by angels,) yet sleep- 
ing peacefully. So very young, so spiritual, so slight and 
fairy-like a creature passing the long dull nights in such 
an uncongenial place — I could not dismiss it from my 
thoughts. 

We are so much in the habit of allowing impressions 
to be made upon us by external objects, which should be 
produced by reflection alone, but which without such vis- 
ible aids, often esc’ape us, that I am not sure I should 
have been so thoroughly possessed by this one subject, 
but for the heaps of fantastic things I had seen huddled 
together in the curiosity-dealer’s warehouse. These, 
crowding on my mind, in connection with the child, and 
gathering round her, as it were, brought her condition 
palpably before me. I had her image, without any ef- 
fort of imagination, surrounded and beset by everything 
that was foreign to its nature, and farthest removed from 
the sympathies of her sex and age. If these helps to 
my fancy had all been wanting, and I had been forced 
to imagine her in a common chamber, with nothing un- 
usual or uncouth in its appearance, it is very probable 
that I should have been less impressed with her strange 
and solitary state. As it was, she seemed to exist in a 
kind of allegory ; and, having these shapes about her, 
claimed my interest so strongly, that (as I have already 
remarked) I could not dismiss her from my recollection, 
do what I would. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


2 ? 


u It would be a curious speculation,” said I, after some 
restless turns across and across the room, u to imagine 
her in her future life, holding her solitary way among 
a crowd of wild grotesque companions : the only pure, 
fresh, youthful object in the throng. It would be curi- 
ous to find ” 

I checked myself here, for the theme was carrying me 
along with it at a great pace, and I already saw before 
me a region on which I was little disposed to enter. I 
agreed with myself that this was idle musing, and re- 
solved to go to bed, and court forgetfulness. 

But, all that night, waking or in my sleep, the same 
thoughts recurred, and the same images retained posses- 
sion of my brain. I had, ever before me, the old dark 
murky rooms — the gaunt suits of mail with their ghostly 
silent air — the faces all awry, grinning from wood and 
stone — the dust, and rust, and worm that lives in wood 
— and alone in the midst of all this lumber and decay 
and ugly age, the beautiful child in her gentle slumbei, 
smiling through her light and sunny dreams. 


28 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER II. 

After combating, for nearly a week, the feeling 
which impelled me to revisit the place I had quitted 
under the circumstances already detailed, I yielded to it 
at length ; and determining that this time I would pre- 
sent myself by the light of day, bent my steps thither 
early in the afternoon. 

I walked past the house, and took several turns in the 
street, with that kind of hesitation which is natural to a 
man who is conscious that the visit he is about to pay is 
unexpected, and may not be very acceptable. However, 
as the door of the shop was shut, and it did not appear 
likely that I should be recognized by those within, if I 
continued merely to pass up and down before it, I soon 
conquered this irresolution, and found myself in the Cu- 
riosity Dealer’s warehouse. 

The old man and another person were together in the 
back part, and there seemed to have been high words 
between them, for their voices which were raised to a 
very loud pitch suddenly stopped on my entering, and 
the old man advancing hastily towards me, said in a 
tremulous tone that he was very glad I had come. 

“You interrupted us at a critical moment,” he said, 
pointing to the man whom I had found in company with 
him ; “ this fellow will murder me one of these days 
He would have done so, long ago, if he had dared.” 


.HE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


29 


“ Bah ! You would swear away my life if you could,” 
returned the other, after bestowing a stare and a frown 
on me ; “ we all know that ! ” 

“ I almost think I could,” cried the old man, turning 
feebly upon him. “ If oaths, or prayers, or words, could 
rid me of you, they should. I would be quit of you, and 
would be relieved if you were dead.” 

“ I know it,” returned the other. u I said so, didn’t 
I ? But neither oaths, nor prayers, nor words, will kill 
me, and therefore I live, and mean to live.” 

“ And his mother died ! ” cried the old man passion- 
ately clasping his hands and looking upward ; u and this 
is Heaven’s justice T ” 

The other stood lounging with his foot upon a chair, 
and regarded him with a contemptuous sneer. He was 
a young man of one-and-twenty or thereabouts ; well 
made, and certainly handsome, though the expression of 
his face was far from prepossessing, having in common 
with his manner and even his dress, a dissipated, insolent 
air which repelled one. 

“ Justice or no justice,” said the young fellow, “ here 
I am and here I shall stop till such time as I think fit to 
go, unless you send for assistance to put me out — which 
you won’t do, I know. I tell you again that I want to 
see my sister.” 

“ Your sister ! ” said the old man bitterly. 

“ Ah ! You can’t change the relationship,” returned 
the other. “ If you could, you’d have done it long ago. 
I want to see my sifter, that you keep cooped up here, 
poisoning her mind with your sly secrets and pretending 
an affection for her that you may work her to death, and 
add a few scraped shillings every week to the money you 
can hardly count. I want to see her ; and I will.” 


so 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Here’s a moralist to talk of poisoned minds ! Here’s 
a generous spirit to scorn scraped-up shillings ! ” cried 
the old man, turning from, him to me. “ A profligate, 
sir, who has forfeited every claim not only upon those 
who have the misfortune to be of his blood, but upon 
society which knows nothing of him but his misdeeds. 
A liar too,” he added, in a lower voice as he drew closer 
to me, u who knows how dear she is to me, and seeks to 
wound me even there, because there is a stranger by.” 

“ Strangers are nothing to me, grandfather,” said the 
young fellow catching at the words, “ nor I to them, I 
hope. The best they can do, is to keep an eye to their 
business and leave me to mine. There’s a friend of 
mine waiting outside, and as it seems that I may have 
to wait some time, I’ll call him in, with your leave.” 

Saying this, he stepped to the door, and looking down 
the street beckoned several times to some unseen person, 
who, to judge from the air of impatience with which 
these signals were accompanied, required a great quan- 
tity of persuasion to induce him to advance. At length 
there sauntered up, on the opposite side of the way — 
with a bad pretence of passing by accident — a figure 
conspicuous for its dirty smartness, which after a great 
many frowns and jerks of the head, in resistance of the 
invitation, ultimately crossed the road and was brought 
into the shop. 

“ There. It’s Dick Swiveller,” said the young fellow, 
pushing him in. “ Sit down, Swiveller.” 

“ But is the old min agreeable ? ” said Mr. Swiveller 
in an undertone. 

“ Sit down,” repeated his companion. 

Mr. Swiveller complied, and looking about him with a 
propitiatory smile, observed that last week was a fine 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


31 


week for tlie ducks, and this week was a fine week for the 
dust ; he also observed that while standing by the post 
at the street-corner, he had observed a pig with a straw 
in his mouth issuing out of the tobacco-shop, from which 
appearance he augured that another fine week for the 
ducks was approaching, and that rain would certainly 
ensue. He furthermore took occasion to apologize for 
any negligence that might be perceptible in his dress, 
on the ground that last night he had had “ the sun very 
strong in his eye ; ” by which expression he was under- 
stood to convey to his hearers in the most delicate man- 
ner possible, the information that he had been extremely 
drunk. 

“ But what,” said Mr. Swiveller with a sigh, “ what is 
the odds so long as the fire of soul is kindled at the taper 
of conwiviality, and the wing of friendship never moults 
a feather ! What is the odds so long as the spirit is ex- 
panded by means of rosy wine, and the present moment 
is the least happiest of our existence ! ” 

“ You needn’t act the chairman here,” said his friend, 
half aside. 

“ Fred ! ” cried Mr. Swiveller, tapping his nose, “ a 
word to the wise is sufficient for them — we may be 
good and happy without riches, Fred, Say not another 
syllable. I know my cue ; smart is the word. Only 
one little whisper Fred — is the old min friendly?” 

“ Never you mind,” replied his friend. 

“ Right again, quite right,” said Mr. Swiveller, “ cau- 
tion is the word, and caution is the act.” With that, he 
winked as if in preservation of some deep secret, and 
folding his arms and leaning back in his chair, looked up 
at the ceiling with profound gravity. 

It was perhaps not very unreasonable to suspect from 


32 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


what had already passed, that Mr. Swiveller was not 
quite recovered from the effects of the powerful sunlight 
to which he had made allusion ; but if no such suspicion 
had been awakened by his speech, his wiry hair, dull 
eyes, and sallow face, would still have been strong wit- 
nesses against him. His attire was not, as he had him- 
self hinted, remarkable for the nicest arrangement, but 
was in a state of disorder which strongly induced the 
idea that he had gone to bed in it. It consisted of a browu 
body-coat with a great many brass buttons up the front 
and only one behind, a bright check neckerchief, a plaid 
waistcoat, soiled white trousers, and a very limp hat, 
worn with the wrong side foremost, to hide a hole in the 
brim. The breast of his coat was ornamented with an 
outside pocket from which there peeped forth the clean- 
est end of a very large and very ill-favored handker- 
chief ; his dirty wristbands were pulled down as far as 
possible and ostentatiously folded back over his cuffs ; he 
displayed no gloves, and carried a yellow cane having at 
the top a bone hand with the semblance of a ring on its 
little finger and a black ball in its grasp. With all 
these personal advantages (to which may be added a 
strong savor of tobacco-smoke, and a prevailing greasi- 
ness of appearance) Mr. Swiveller leant back in his 
chair with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and occasionally 
pitching his voice to the needful key, obliged the com- 
pany with a few bars of an intensely dismal air, and 
then, in the middle of a note, relapsed into his former 
silence. 

The old man sat himself down in a chair, and, with 
folded hands, looked sometimes at his grandson and 
sometimes at his strange companion, as if he were ut- 
terly powerless and had no resource but to leave them 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


33 


to do as they pleased. The young man reclined against 
a table at no great distance from his friend, in apparent 
indifference to everything that had passed ; and I — who 
felt the difficulty of any interference, notwithstanding 
that the old man had appealed to me, both by words and 
looks — made the best feint I could of being occupied in 
examining some of the goods that were disposed for sale, 
and paying very little attention to the persons before me. 

The silence was not of long duration, for Mr. Swivel- 
ler, after favoring us with several melodious assurances 
that his heart was in the highlands, and that he wanted 
but his Arab steed as a preliminary to the achievement 
of great feats of valor and loyalty, removed his eyes from 
the ceiling and subsided into prose again. 

“ Fred,” said Mr. Swiveller stopping short as if the 
idea had suddenly occurred to him, and speaking in 
the same audible whisper as before, “is the old min 
friendly ? ” 

“ What does it matter ? ” returned his friend pee- 
vishly. 

“No, but is' he ? ” said Dick. 

“ Yes, of course. What do I care whether he is or 
not.” 

Emboldened as it seemed by this reply to enter into a 
more general conversation, Mr. Swiveller plainly laid 
himself out to captivate our attention. 

He began by remarking that soda-water, though a 
good thing in the abstract, was apt to lie cold upon the 
stomach unless qualified with ginger, or a small infusion 
of brandy, which latter article he held to be preferable 
in all cases, saving for the one consideration of expense. 
Nobody venturing to dispute these positions, he pro- 
ceeded to observe that the human hair was a great re- 
3 


VOL I. 


34 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


tainer of tobacco-smoke, and that the young gentlemen 
of Westminster and Eton, after eating vast quantities of 
apples to conceal any scent of cigars from their anxious 
friends, were usually detected in consequence of their 
heads possessing this remarkable property ; whence he 
concluded that if the Royal Society would turn their 
attention to the circumstance, and endeavor to find in 
the resources of science a means of preventing such un- 
toward revelations, they might indeed be looked upon as 
benefactors to mankind. These opinions being equally 
incontrovertible with those he had already pronounced, 
he went on to inform us that Jamaica rum, though un- 
questionably an agreeable spirit of great richness and fla- 
vor, had the drawback of remaining constantly present to 
the taste next day ; and nobody being venturous enough 
to argue this point either, he increased in confidence and 
became yet more companionable and communicative. 

“ It’s a devil of a thing, gentlemen,” said Mr. Swivel- 
ler, “ when relations fall out and disagree. If the wing 
of friendship should never moult a feather, the wing of 
relationship should never be clipped, but' be always ex- 
panded and serene. Why should a grandson and grand- 
father peg away at each other with mutual wiolence 
when all might be bliss and concord ? Why not jine 
dands and forgit it ? ” 

“ Hold your tongue,” said his friend. 

“ Sir,” replied Mr. Swiveller, “ don’t you interrupt the 
ehair. Gentlemen, how does the case stand, upon the 
present occasion ? Here is a jolly old grandfather — I 
say it with the utmost respect — and here is a wild 
young grandson. The jolly old grandfather says to the 
wild young grandson, ‘ I have brought you up and edu- 
cated you, Fred; I have put you in the way of getting 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


So 


on in life ; you have bolted a little out of the course, as 
young fellows often do ; and you shall never have an- 
other chance, nor the ghost of half a one/ The wild 
young grandson makes answer to this and says, ‘ You’re 
as rich as rich can be ; you have been ^ no uncommon 
expense on my account, you’re saving up piles of money 
for my little sister that lives with you in a secret, 
stealthy, hugger-muggering kind of way and with no 
manner of enjoyment — why can’t you stand a trifle for 
your grown-up relation ? ’ The jolly old grandfather 
unto this, retorts, not only that he declines to fork out 
with that cheerful readiness which is always so agreeable 
and pleasant in a gentleman of his time of life, but that 
he will blow up, and call names, and make reflections 
whenever they meet. Then the plain question is, a’n’t 
it a pity that this state of things should continue, and 
how much better would it be for the old gentleman to 
hand over a reasonable amount of tin, and make it all 
right and comfortable ? ” 

Having delivered this oration with a great many 
waves and flourishes of the hand, Mr. Swiveller ab- 
ruptly thrust the head of his cane into his mouth as 
if to prevent himself from impairing the effect of his 
speech by adding one other word. 

“ Why do you hunt and persecute me, God help 
me ? ” said the old man turning to his grandson. “ Why 
do you bring your profligate companions here ? How 
often am I to tell you that my life is one of care and 
self-denial, and that I am poor ? ” 

“How often am I to tell you,” returned the other, 
looking coldly at him, “ that I know better ? ” 

“You have chosen your own path,” said the old man. 
'* Follow it. Leave Nell and I to toil and work.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


3 C> 


Nell will be a woman soon,’’ returned the other, 
u and, bred in your faith, she’ll forget her brother unless 
he shows himself sometimes.” 

“Take care,” said the old man with sparkling eyes, 
“ that she does .not forget you when you would have her 
memory keenest. Take care that the day don’t come 
when you walk barefoot in the streets, and she rides by 
in a gay carriage of her own.” 

“ You mean when she has your money ? ” retorted 
the other. “ How like a poor man he talks ! ” 

“ And yet,” said the old man, dropping his voice and 
speaking like one who thinks aloud, “ how poor we are, 
and what a life it is ! The cause is a young child’s, 
guiltless of all harm or wrong, but nothing goes well 
with it ! Hope and patience, hope and patience ! ” 
These words were uttered in too low a tone to reach 
the ears of the young men. Mr. Swiveller appeared 
to think that they implied some mental struggle con- 
sequent upon the powerful effect of his address, for he 
poked his friend with his cane and whispered his con- 
viction that he had administered “ a clincher,” and that 
he expected a commission on the profits. Discovering 
his mistake after a while, he appeared to grow rather 
sleepy and discontented, and had more than once sug- 
gested the propriety of an immediate departure, when 
the door opened, and the child herself appeared. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


37 


CHAPTER III. 

The child was closely followed by an elderly man of 
remarkably hard features and forbidding aspect, and so 
low in stature as to be quite a dwarf, though his head 
and face were large enough for the body of a giant. 
His black eyes were restless, sly, and cunning ; his 
mouth and chin, bristly with the stubble of a coarse 
hard beard ; and his complexion was one of that kind 
which never looks clean or wholesome. But what 
added most to the grotesque expression of his face, 
was a ghastly smile, which, appearing to be the mere 
result of habit and to have no connection with any 
mirthful or complacent feeling, constantly revealed the 
few discolored fangs that were yet scattered in his 
mouth, and gave him the aspect of a panting dog. 
His dress consisted of a large high-crowned hat, a worn 
dark suit, a pair of capacious shoes, and a dirty white 
neckerchief sufficiently limp and crumpled to disclose 
the greater portion of his wiry throat. Such hair as 
he had, was of a grizzled black, cut short and straight 
upon his temples, and hanging in a frowzy fringe about 
his ears. His hands, which were of a rough coarse 
grain, were very dirty ; his finger-nails were crooked, 
long, and yellow. 

There was ample time to note these particular, for 
besides that they were sufficiently obvious without very 


38 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


close observation, some moments elapsed before any one 
broke silence. The child advanced timidly towards her 
brother and put her hand in his, the dwarf (if we may 
call him so) glanced keenly at all present, and the cu- 
riosity-dealer, who plainly had not expected his uncouth 
visitor, seemed disconcerted and embarrassed. 

“ Ah ! ” said the dwarf, who with his hand stretched 
out above his eyes had been surveying the young man 
attentively, “that should be your grandson, neighbor!” 

“ Say rather that he should not be,” replied the old 
man. “ But he is.” 

“ And that ? ” said the dwarf, pointing to Dick Swiv- 
eller. 

“ Some friend of his, as welcome here as he,” said 
the old man. 

“ And that ? ” inquired the dwarf wheeling round and 
pointing straight at me. 

“ A gentleman who was so good as to bring Nell 
home the other night when she lost her way, coming 
from your house.” 

The little man turned to the child as if to chide her 
or express his wonder, but, as she was talking to the 
young man, held his peace, and bent his head to listen. 

“ Well, Nelly,” said the young fellow aloud. “ Do 
they teach you to hate me, eh?” 

“No, no. For shame. Oh, no!” cried the child. 

“To love me, perhaps?” pursued her brother with 
a sneer. 

“ To do neither,” she returned. “ They never speak 
to me about you. Indeed they never do * 

“ I dare be bound for that,” he said, darting a bittej 
look at the grandfather. “ I dare be bound for that. 
Nell. Oh ! I believe you there ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


39 


“ But I love you dearly, Fred,” said the child. 

“No doubt!” 

“ I do indeed, and always will,” the child repeated 
with great emotion, “ but oh ! if you would leave off 
vexing him and making him unhappy, then I could 
love you more.” 

“ I see ! ” said the young man, as he stooped care- 
lessly over the child, and having kissed her, pushed her 
from him-: “There — get you away now you have said 
your lesson. You needn’t whimper. We part good 
friends enough, if that’s the matter.” 

He remained silent, following her with his eyes, until 
she had gained her little room and closed the door ; and 
then turning to the dwarf, said abruptly, — 

“ Hark ’ee, Mr.” — 

“ Meaning me ? ” returned the dwarf. “ Quilp is my 
name. You might remember. It’s not a long one — 
Daniel Quilp.” 

“ Hark ’ee, Mr. Quilp, then,” pursued the other. 
“You have some influence with my grandfather there.” 

“ Some,” said Mr. Quilp emphatically. 

“And are in a few of his mysteries and secrets.” 

“ A few,” replied Quilp, with equal dryness. 

“ Then let me tell him once for all, through you, that 
I will come into and go out of this place as often as 
I like, so long as he keeps Nell here ; and that if he 
wants to be quit of me, he must first be quit of her. 
What have I done to be made a bugbear of, and to 
be shunned and dreaded as if I brought the plague? 
He’ll tell you that I have no natural affection ; and that 
I care no more for Nell, for her ow/i sake, than I do 
for him. Let him say so. I care for the whim, then, 
of coming to and fro and reminding her of my exis- 


40 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


tence. I will see her when I please. That*© my point 
I came here to-day to maintain it, and I’ll come here 
again fifty times with the same object and always with 
the same success. I said I would stop till I had 
gained it. I have done so, and now my visit’s ended. 
Come, Dick.” 

“ Stop ! ” cried Mr. Swiveller, as his companion 
turned towards the door. “ Sir ! ” 

“ Sir, I am your humble servant,” said Mr. Quilp, 
to whom the monosyllable was addressed. 

“ Before I leave the gay and festive scene, and halls 
of dazzling light, sir,” said Mr. Swiveller, “ I will, with 
your permission, attempt a slight remark. I came here, 
sir, this day, under the impression that the old min was 
friendly.” 

“ Proceed, sir,” said Daniel Quilp ; fof the orator had 
made a sudden stop. 

“ Inspired by this idea and the sentiments it awak- 
ened, sir, and feeling as a mutual friend that badger- 
ing, baiting, and bullying, was not the sort of thing 
calculated to expand the souls and promote the social 
harmony of the contending parties, I took upon myself 
to suggest a course which is the course to be adopted 
on the present occasion. Will you allow me to whis- 
per half a syllable, sir?” 

Without waiting for the permission he sought, Mr 
Swiveller stepped up to the dwarf, and leaning on hi 
shoulder and stooping down to get at his ear, said in 
a voice which was perfectly audible to all present, — 

“ The watchword to the old min is — fork.” 

“ Is what ? ” demanded Quilp. 

“ Is fork, sir, fork,” replied Mr. Swiveller slapping 
his pocket. “ You are awake, sir ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


41 


The dwarf nodded. Mr. Swiveller drew back and 
nodded likewise, then drew a little farther back and 
nodded again, and so on. By these means he in time 
reached the door, where he gave a great cough to at- 
tract the dwarf’s attention and gain an opportunity of 
expressing in dumb show, the closest confidence and 
most inviolable secrecy. Having performed the seri- 
ous pantomime that was necessary for the due convey- 
ance of these ideas, he cast himself upon his friend’s 
track, and vanished. 

“ Humph ! ” said the dwarf with a sour look and a 
shrug of his shoulders, “ so much for dear relations. 
Thank God I acknowledge none ! Nor need you either,” 
he added, turning to the old man, “ if you were not as 
weak as a reed, and nearly as senseless.” 

“ What would you have me do ? ” he retorted in a 
kind of helpless desperation. “It is easy to talk and 
sneer. What would you have me do?” 

“ What would I do if I was in your case ? ” said the 
dwarf. 

“ Something violent, no doubt.” 

“ You’re right there,” returned the little man, highly 
gratified by the compliment, for such he evidently con- 
sidered it; and grinning like a devil as he rubbed his 
dirty hands together. “ Ask Mrs. Quilp, pretty Mrs. 
Quilp, obedient, timid, loving Mrs. Quilp. But that re- 
minds me — I have left her all alone, and she will be 
anxious and know not a moment’s peace till I return. I 
know she’s always in that condition when I’m away 
though she doesn’t dare to say so, unless I lead her on 
and tell her she may speak freely, and I won’t be angry 
with her. Oh ! well-trained Mrs. Quilp ! ” 

The creature appeared quite horrible, with his mon* 


42 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


strous head and little body, as he rubbed his hands slowly 
round, and round, and round again — with something 
fantastic even in his manner of performing this slight 
action — and, dropping his shaggy brows and cocking his 
chin in the air, glanced upward with a stealthy look of 
exultation that an imp might have copied and appropri 
a ted to himself. 

“ Here,” he said, putting his hand into his breast and 
sidling up to the old man as he spoke ; “ I brought it 
myself for fear of accidents, as, being in gold, it was 
something large and heavy for Nell to carry in her bag. 
She need be accustomed to such loads betimes though, 
neighbor, for she will carry weight when you are dead.” 

“ Heaven send she may ! I hope so,” said the old 
man with something like a groan. 

“ Hope so ! ” echoed the dwarf, approaching close to 
his ear ; u neighbor, I would I knew in what good invest- 
ment all these supplies are sunk. But you are a deep 
man, and keep your secret close.” 

“ My secret ! ” said the other with a haggard look. 
“ Yes, you’re right — I — 1 — keep it close — very 
close.” 

He said no more, but, taking the money, turned away 
with a slow uncertain step, and pressed his hand upon 
his head like a weary and dejected man. The dwarf 
watched him sharply, while he passed into the little sit- 
ting-room and locked it in an iron safe above the chim- 
ney-piece ; and after musing for a short space, prepared 
to take his leave, observing that unless he made good 
haste, Mrs. Quilp would certainly be in fits on his re- 
turn. 

“ And so, neighbor,” he added, “ I’ll turn my face 
homewards, leaving my love for Nelly and hoping she 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


43 


may never lose her way again, though her doing so, has 
procured me an honor I didn’t expect.” With that, he 
bowed and leered at me, and with a keen glance around 
which seemed to comprehend every object within his 
range of vision, however small or trivial, went his 
way. 

I had several times essayed to go myself, but the old 
man had always opposed it and entreated me to remain. 
As he renewed his entreaties on our being left alone, and 
adverted with many thanks to the former occasion of our 
being together, I willingly yielded to his persuasions, and 
sat down, pretending to examine some curious miniatures 
and a few old medals which he placed before me. It 
needed no great pressing to induce me to stay, for if my 
curiosity had been excited on the occasion of my first 
visit, it certainly was not diminished now. 

Nell joined us before long, and bringing some needle- 
work to the table, sat by the old man’s side. It was 
pleasant to observe the fresh flowers in the room, the 
pet bird with a green bough shading his little cage, the 
breath of freshness and youth which seemed to rustle 
through the old dull house and hover round the child. 
It was curious, but not so pleasant, to turn from the 
beauty and grace of the girl, to the stooping figure, care- 
worn face, and jaded aspect of the old man. As he 
grew weaker and more feeble, what would become of 
this lonely little creature ; poor protector as he was, say 
that he died — what would her fate be, then ? 

The old man almost answered my thoughts, as he laid 
his hand on hers, and spoke aloud. 

“ I’ll be of better cheer, Nell,” he said ; “ there must 
be good fortune in store for thee — I do not ask it for 
myself, but thee. Such miseries must fall on thy inno» 


44 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


cent head without it, that I cannot believe but that, being 
tempted, it will come at last ! 99 

She looked cheerfully into his face, but made no an- 
swer. 

“ When I think,” said he, “ of the many years — 
many in thy short life — that thou hast lived alone with 
me ; of thy monotonous existence, knowing no compan- 
ions of thy own age nor any childish pleasures ; of the 
solitude in which thou hast grown to be what thou art, 
and in which thou hast lived apart from nearly all thy 
kind but one old man ; I sometimes fear I have dealt 
hardly by thee, Nell.” 

“ Grandfather ! ” cried the child in unfeigned surprise. 

“ Not in intention — no no,” said he. “ I have ever 
looked forward to the time that should enable thee to 
mix among the gayest and prettiest, and take thy station 
with the best. But I still look forward, Nell, I still look 
forward, and if I should be forced to leave thee, mean- 
while, how have I fitted thee for struggles with the world ? 
The poor bird yonder, is as well qualified to encounter it, 
and be turned adrift upon its mercies — Hark ! I hear 
Kit outside. Go to him, Nell, go to him.” 

She rose, and hurrying away, stopped, turned back, 
and put her arms about the old man’s neck, then left him 
and hurried aw*ay again — but faster this time to hide 
her falling tears. 

“ A word in your ear, sir,” said the old man in a hur- 
ried whisper. “I have been rendered uneasy by what 
you said the other night, and can only plead that I have 
done all for the best — that it is too late to retract, if I 
could (though I cannot.) — and that I hope to triumph 
yet. All is for her sake. I have borne great poverty 
myself, and would spare her the sufferings that poverty 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


45 


carries with it. I would spare her the miseries that 
brought her mother, my own dear child, to an early 
grave. I would leave her — not with resources which 
could be easily spent or squandered away, but with what 
would place her beyond the reach of want forever. You 
mark me, sir ? She shall have no pittance, but a for- 
tune — Hush ! I can say no more, than that, now or at 
any other time, and she is here again ! ” 

The eagerness with which all this was poured into 
my ear, the trembling of the hand with which he clasped 
my arm, the strained and starting eyes he fixed upon me, 
the wild vehemence and agitation of his manner, filled 
me with amazement. All that I had heard and seen, 
and a great part of what he had said himself, led me to 
suppose that he was a wealthy man. I could form no 
comprehension of his character, unless he were one of 
those miserable wretches who, having made gain the sole 
end and object of their lives, and having succeeded in 
amassing great riches, are constantly tortured by the 
dread of poverty, and beset by fears of loss and ruin. 
Many things he had said, which I had been at a loss to 
understand, were quite reconcilable with the idea thus 
presented to me, and at length I concluded that beyond 
all doubt he was one of this unhappy race. 

The opinion was not the result of hasty consideration, 
for which indeed there was no opportunity at that time, 
as the child came back directly, and soon occupied her 
self in preparations for giving Kit a writing lesson, of 
which it seemed he had a couple every week, and one 
regularly on that evening, to the great mirth and enjoy- 
ment both of himself and his instructress. To relate 
bow it was a long time before his modesty could be so 
far prevailed upon as to admit of his sitting down in the 


46 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


parlor, in the presence of an unknown gentleman — how, 
when he did sit down, he tucked up his sleeves and 
squared his elbows and put his face close to the copy- 
book and squinted horribly at the lines — how, from the 
very first moment of having the pen in his hand, he be- 
gan to wallow in blots, and to daub himself with ink up 
to the very roots of his hair — how, if he did by acci- 
dent form a letter properly, he immediately smeared it 
out again with his arm in his preparations to make an- 
other — how, at every fresh mistake, there was a fresh 
burst of merriment from the child and a louder and not 
less hearty laugh from poor Kit himself — and how 
there was all the way through, notwithstanding, a gentle 
wish on her part to teach, and an anxious desire on his 
to learn — to relate all these particulars would no doubt 
occupy more space and time than they deserve. It will 
be sufficient to say that the lesson was given — that 
evening passed and night came on — that the old man 
again grew restless and impatient — that he quitted the 
house secretly at the same hour as before — and that 
the child was once more Jeft alone within its gloomy 
walls. 

And now, that I have carried this history so far in my 
own character and introduced these personages to the 
reader, I shall for the convenience of the narrative de- 
tach myself from its further course, and leave those who 
have prominent and necessary parts in it to speak and 
act for themselves. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


4 ? 


CHAPTER IV. 

Mr. and Mrs. Quilp resided on Tower Hill ; and in 
her bower on Tower Hill Mrs. Quilp was left to pine the 
absence of her lord, when he quitted her on the business 
which he has been already seen to transact. 

Mr. Quilp could scarcely be said to be of any particu- 
lar trade or calling, though his pursuits were diversified 
and his occupations numerous. He collected the rents 
of whole colonies of filthy streets and alleys by the water- 
side, advanced money to the seamen and petty officers 
of merchant vessels, had a share in the ventures of 
divers mates of East Indiamen, smoked his smuggled 
cigars under the very nose of the Custom House, and 
made appointments on Change with men in glazed hats 
and round jackets pretty well every day. On the Sur- 
rey side of the river was a small rat-infested dreary yaro 
called “ Quilp’s Wharf,” in which were a little wooden 
counting-house burrowing all awry in the dust as if it 
had fallen from the clouds and ploughed into the ground: 
a few fragments of rusty anchors ; several large iron 
rings ; some piles of rotten wood ; and two or three 
heaps of old sheet copper, crumpled, cracked, and bat- 
tered. On Quilp’s Wharf, Daniel Quilp was a ship- 
breaker, yet to judge from these appearances he must 
either have been a ship-breaker on a very small scale, 
or have broken his ships up very small indeed. Neither 


48 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOT 


did the place present any extraordinary aspect of life or 
activity, as its only human occupant was an amphibious 
boy in a canvas suit, whose sole change of occupation 
was from sitting on the head of a pile and throwing 
stones into the mud when the tide was out, to standing 
with his hands in his pockets gazing listlessly on the mo- 
tion and on the bustle of the river at high-water. 

The dwarf’s lodging on Tower Hill comprised, besides 
the needful accommodation for himself and Mrs. Quilp 
a small sleeping-closet for that lady’s mother, who re- 
sided with the couple and waged perpetual war with 
Daniel ; of whom, notwithstanding, she stood in no slight 
dread. Indeed, the ugly creature contrived by some 
means or other — whether by his ugliness or his ferocity 
or his natural cunning is no great matter — to impress 
w T ith a wholesome fear of his anger, most of those with 
wdiom he was brought into daily contact and communi- 
cation. Over nobody had he such complete ascendency 
as Mrs. Quilp herself — a pretty little, mild-spoken, 
blue-eyed woman, who having allied herself in wedlock 
to the dwarf in one of those strange infatuations of 
which examples are by no means scarce, performed a 
sound practical penance for her folly, every day of her 
life. 

It has been said that Mrs. Quilp was pining in her 
bower. In her bower she was, but not alone, for besides 
the old lady her mother of whom mention has recently 
been made, there were present some half dozen ladies of 
the neighborhood who had happened by a strange acci- 
dent (and also by a little understanding among them- 
selves) to drop in one after another, just about tea-time. 
This being a season favorable to conversation, and the 
room being a cool, shady, lazy kind of place, with some 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


4 9 


plants at the open window shutting out the dust, and in- 
terposing pleasantly enough between the tea-table within 
and the old Tower without, it is no wonder that the 
ladies felt an inclination to talk and linger, especially 
when there are taken into account the additional induce- 
ments of fresh butter, new bread, shrimps, and water 
cresses. 

Now, the ladies being together under these circum- 
stances, it was extremely natural that the discourse 
should turn upon the propensity of mankind to tyrannize 
over the weaker sex, and the duty that devolved upon 
the weaker sex to resist that tyranny and assert their 
rights and dignity. It was natural for four reasons ; 
firstly because Mrs. Quilp being a young woman and 
notoriously under the dominion of her husband ought to 
be excited to rebel, secondly because Mrs. Quilp’s parent 
was known to be laudably shrewish in her disposition 
and inclined to resist male authority, thirdly because 
each visitor wished to show for herself how superior she 
was in this respect to the generality of her sex, and 
fourthly because the company being accustomed to scan- 
dalize each other in pairs were deprived of their usual 
subject of conversation now that they were all assembled 
in close friendship, and had consequently no better em- 
ployment than to attack the common enemy. 

Moved by these considerations, a stout lady opened 
the proceedings, by inquiring with an air of great con- 
cern and sympathy, how Mr. Quilp wa? ; whereunto Mr. 
Quilp’s wife’s mother replied sharply, “ Oh ! he was well 
enough — nothing much was ever the matter with him 
— and ill weeds were sure to thrive.” All the ladies 
then sighed in concert, shook their heads gravely, and 
looked at Mrs. Quilp as at a martyr. 

VOL. i. 4 


50 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Ah ! ” said the spokeswoman, “ I w r ish you’d give her 
a little of your advice, Mrs. Jinivvin ” — - Mrs. Quilp had 
been a Miss Jinivvin it should be observed — “ nobody 
knows better than you, ma’am, what us women owe to 
ourselves.” 

“ Owe indeed, ma’am ! ” replied Mrs. Jiniwin. “ When 
my poor husband, her dear father, was alive, if he had 

ever ventur’d a cross word to me , I’d have ” the 

good old lady did not finish the sentence, but she twisted 
off the head of a shrimp with a vindictiveness which 
seemed to imply that the action was in some degree a 
substitute for words. In this light it was clearly under- 
stood by the other party, who immediately replied with 
great approbation, “ You quite enter into my feelings, 
ma’am, and it’s jist what I’d do myself.” 

“ But you have no call to do it,” said Mrs. Jiniwin. 
“ Luckily for you, you have no more occasion to do it 
than I had.” 

“ No woman need have, if she was true to herself,” 
rejoined the stout lady. 

“ Do you hear that, Betsy ? ” said Mrs. Jiniwin, in a 
warning voice. “ How often have I said the very same 
words to you, and almost gone down on my knees when 
I spoke ’em ! ” 

Poor Mrs. Quilp, who had looked in a state of help- 
lessness from one face of condolence to another, colored, 
smiled, and shook her head doubtfully. This was the 
signal for a general clamor, w r hich beginning in a low 
murmur gradually swelled into a great noise in which 
everybody spoke at once, and all said that she being a 
young woman had no right to set up her opinions against 
the experiences of those who knew so much better ; that 
It was very wrong of her rot to take the advice of peo- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


51 


pie who had nothing at heart but her good ; that it was 
next door to being downright ungrateful to conduct her- 
self in that manner ; that if she had no respect for her- 
self she ought to have some for other women, all of 
whom she compromised by her meekness ; and that if 
Bhe had no respect for other women, the time would 
come when other women would have no respect for her ; 
and she would be very sorry for that, they could tell her. 
Having dealt out these admonitions, the ladies fell to a 
more powerful assault than they had yet made upon the 
mixed tea, new bread, fresh butter, shrimps, and water- 
cresses, and said that their vexation was so great to see 
her going on like that, that they could hardly bring 
themselves to eat a single morsel. 

“ It’s all very fine to talk,” said Mrs. Quilp with much 
simplicity, “ but I know that if I was to die to-morrow, 
Quilp could marry anybody he pleased — now that he 
could, I know ! ” 

There was quite a scream of indignation at this idea. 
Marry whom he pleased ! They would like to see him 
dare to think of marrying any of them ; they would like 
to see the faintest approach to such a thing. One lady 
(a widow) was quite certain she should stab him if he 
hinted at it. 

“ Very well,” said Mrs. Quilp, nodding her head, “ as 
I said just now, it’s very easy to talk, but I say again 
that I know — that I’m sure — Quilp has such a way with 
him when he likes, that the best looking woman here 
couldn’t refuse him if I was dead, and she was free, and 
he chose to make love to her. Come ! ” 

Everybody bridled up at this remark, as much as to 
Bay “ I know you mean me. Let him try — that’s all.” 
And yet for some hidden reason they were all angry 


52 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


with the widow, and each lady whispered in her neigh- 
bor’s ear that it was very plain the said widow thought 
herself che person referred to, and what a puss she was 1 
“ Mother knows,” said Mrs. Quilp, “ that what I say 
is quite correct, for she often said so before we were 
married. Didn’t you say so, mother ? ” 

This inquiry involved the respected lady in rather a 
delicate position, for she certainly had been an active 
party in making her daughter Mrs. Quilp, and, besides, 
it was not supporting the family credit to encourage the 
idea that she had married a man whom nobody else 
would have. On the other hand, to exaggerate the 
captivating qualities of her son-in-law would be to weak- 
en the cause of revolt, in which all her energies were 
deeply engaged. Beset by these opposing considera- 
tions, Mrs. Jiniwin admitted the powers of insinuation, 
but denied the right to govern, and with a timely com- 
pliment to the stout lady brought back the discussion to 
the point from which it had strayed. 

“ Oh ! It’s a sensible and proper thing indeed, what 
Mrs. George has said ! ” exclaimed the old lady. “ If 
women are only true to themselves ! — But Betsy isn’t, 
and more’s the shame and pity.” 

“ Before I’d let a man order me about as Quilp orders 
her,” said Mrs. George ; “ before I’d consent to stand in 
awe of a man as she does of him, I’d — I’d kill myself, 
and write a letter first to say he did it ! ” 

This remark being loudly commended and approved 
of, another lady (from the Minories) put in her word : 

“ Mr. Quilp may be a very nice man,” said this lady, 
:< and I suppose there’s no doubt he is, because Mrs. 
Quilp says he is, and Mrs. Jiniwin says he is, and they 
ought to know or nobody does. But still he is not quite 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


53 


a — what one calls a handsome man, nor quite a young 
man neither, which might be a little excuse for him if 
anything could be ; whereas his wife is young, and is 
good-looking, and is a woman — which is the great thing 
after all.” 

This last clause being delivered with extraordinary 
pathos elicited a corresponding murmur from the hear- 
ers, stimulated by which the lady went on to remark 
that if such a husband was cross and unreasonable with 
such a wife, then — 

“ If he is ! ” interposed the mother, putting down hei 
teacup and brushing the crumbs out of her lap, prepar- 
atory to making a solemn declaration. “ If he is ! He 
is the greatest tyrant that ever lived, she daren’t call her 
soul her own, he makes her tremble with a word and 
even with a look, he frightens her to death, and she 
hasn’t the spirit to give him a word back, no, not a sin- 
gle word.” 

Notwithstanding that the fact had been notorious 
beforehand to all the tea-drinkers, and had been dis- 
cussed and expatiated on at every tea-drinking in the 
neighborhood for the last twelve months, this official 
communication was no sooner made than they all began 
to talk at once and to vie with each other in vehemence 
and volubility. Mrs. George remarked that people 
would talk, that people had often said this to her be- 
fore, that Mrs. Simmons then and there present had 
told her so twenty times, that she had always said. 
“ No, Henrietta Simmons, unless I see it with my own 
eyes and h$ar it with my own ears, I never will believe 
it.” Mrs. Simmons corroborated this testimony and 
added strong evidence of her own. The lady from 
the Minories recounted a successful course of treatment 


54 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


under which she had placed her own husband, whc from 
manifesting one month after marriage unequivocal symp^ 
toms of the tiger, had by this means become subdued 
into a perfect lamb. Another lady recounted her own 
personal struggle and final triumph, in the course 
whereof she had found it necessary to call in her 
mother and two aunts, and to weep incessantly night 
and day for six weeks. A third, who in the general 
confusion could secure no other listener, fastened her- 
self upon a young woman still unmarried who happened 
to be amongst them, and conjured her as she valued her 
own peace of mind and happiness to profit by this sol- 
emn occasion, to take example from the weakness of 
Mrs. Quilp, and from that time forth to direct her whole 
thoughts to taming and subduing the rebellious spirit of 
man. The noise was at its height, and half the com- 
pany had elevated their voices into a perfect shriek in 
order to drown the voices of the other half, when Mrs. 
Jiniwin was seen to change color and shake her fore- 
finger stealthily, as if exhorting them to silence. Then, 
and not until then Daniel Quilp himself, the cause and 
occasion of all this clamor, was observed to be in the 
room, looking on and listening with profound atten- 
tion. 

“ Go on, ladies, go on,” said Daniel. “ Mrs. Quilp 
pray ask the ladies to stop to supper, and have a couple 
of lobsters and something light and palatable.” 

“ I — I — didn’t ask them to tea, Quilp,” stammered 
his wife. “ It’s quite an accident.” 

“ So much the better, Mrs. Quilp ; these accidental 
parties are always the pleasantest,” said the dwarf, rub- 
bing his hands so hard that he seemed to be engaged in 
manufacturing, of the dirt with which they were in- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


55 


crusted, little charges for popguns. “ What ! Not 
going, ladies ! You are not going, surely ! ” 

His fair enemies tossed their heads slightly as they 
sought their respective bonnets and shawls, but left all 
verbal contention to Mrs. Jiniwin, who finding herself in 
the position of champion, made a faint struggle to sustain 
the character. 

“ And why not stop to supper, Quilp,” said the old 
lady, “ if my daughter had a mind ? ” 

“ To be sure,” rejoined Daniel. “ Why not ? ” 

“ There’s nothing dishonest or wrong in a supper, i 
hope ? ” said Mrs. Jiniwin. 

“ Surely not,” returned the dwarf. “ Why should 
there be ? Nor anything unwholesome either, unless 
there’s lobster-salad or prawns, which I’m told are not 
good for digestion.” 

“ And you wouldn’t like your wife to be attacked with 
that, or anything else that would make her uneasy, 
would you ? ” said Mrs. Jiniwin. 

“ Not for a score of worlds,” replied the dwarf with a 
grin. “ Not even to have a score of mothers-in-law at 
the same time — and what a blessing that would be ! ” 

“ My daughter’s your wife, Mr. Quilp, certainly,” said 
the old lady with a giggle, meant for satirical and to im- 
ply that he needed to be reminded of the fact ; “ your 
wedded wife.” 

“ So she is certainly. So she is,” observed the dwarf 
“ And she has a right to do as she likes, I hope 
Quilp,” said the old lady trembling, partly with anger 
and partly with a secret fear of her impish son-in-law. 

“ Hope she has ! ” he replied, “ Oh ! Don’t you 
^now she has ? Don’t you know she has, Mrs. Jini- 
win ? ” 


56 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ I know she ought to have, Quilp, and would have if 
she was of my way of thinking.” 

“ Why a’n’t you of your mother's way of thinking 
my dear ?” said the dwarf, turning round and address- 
ing his wife, “ why don’t you always imitate your 
mother, my dear ? She’s the ornament of her sex — 
your father said so every day of his life, I am sure he 
did.” 

“ Her father was a blessed creetur’, Quilp, and worth 
twenty thousand of some people,” said Mrs. Jiniwin ; 
6t twenty hundred million thousand.” 

“ I should like to have known him,” remarked the 
dwarf. “ I dare say he was a blessed creature then : 
but I’m sure he is now. It was a happy release. I 
believe he had suffered a long time ? ” 

The old lady gave a gasp, but nothing came of it ; 
Quilp resumed, with the same malice in his eye and the 
same sarcastic politeness on his tongue. 

“ You look ill, Mrs. Jiniwin ; I know you have been 
exciting yourself too much — talking perhaps, for it is 
your weakness. Go to bed. Do go to bed.” 

“ I shall go when I please, Quilp, and not before.” 

“ But please to go now. Do please to go now,” said 
the dwarf. 

The old woman looked angrily at him, but retreated 
as he advanced, and falling back before him suffered him 
to shut the door upon her and bolt her out among the 
guests, who were by this time crowding down-stairs. 
Being left alone with his wife, who sat trembling in a 
corner with her eyes fixed upon the ground, the little 
man planted himself before her, at some distance, and 
folding his arms looked steadily at her for a long time 
without speaking. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


57 


“ Oh you nice creature ! ” were the words witli which 
he broke silence ; smacking his lips as if this were no 
figure of speech, and she were actually a sweetmeat. 
“ Oh you precious darling ! oh you de-licious charmer ! ” 
Mrs. Quilp sobbed; and knowing the nature of her 
pleasant lord, appeared quite as much alarmed by these 
compliments, as she would have been by the most ex- 
treme demonstrations of violence. 

“ She’s such,” said the dwarf, with a ghastly grin, — 
“ such a jewel, such a diamond, such a pearl, such a 
ruby, such a golden casket set with gems of all sorts ! 
She’s such a treasure ! I’m so fond of her ! ” 

The poor little woman shivered from head to foot; 
and raising her eyes to his face with an imploring look, 
suffered them to droop again, and sobbed once more. 

“ The best of her is,” said the dwarf, advancing with a 
sort of skip, which, what with the crookedness of his legs, 
the ugliness of his face, and the mockery of his manner, 
was perfectly goblin-like ; — “ the best of her is that she’s 
so meek, and she’s so mild, and she never has a will of 
her own, and she has such an insinuating mother ! ” 
Uttering these latter words with a gloating malicious- 
ness, within a hundred degrees of which no one but him- 
self could possibly approach, Mr. Quilp planted his two 
hands on his knees, and straddling his legs out very wide 
apart, stooped slowly down, and down, and down, until, 
by screwing his head very much on one side, he came 
between his wife’s eyes and the floor. 

“Mrs. Quilp!” 

“Yes, Quilp.” 

“ Am I nice to look at ? Should I be the handsomest 
creature in the world if I had but whiskers ? Am I 
juite a lady’s man as it is? — am I, Mrs. Quilp?” 


58 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Mrs. Quilp dutifully replied, “ Yes, Quilp ; ” and 
fascinated by his gaze, remained looking timidly at 
him, while he treated her with a succession of such 
horrible grimaces, as none but himself and nightmares 
had the power of assuming. During the whole of this 
performance, which was somewhat of the longest, he 
preserved a dead silence, except when, by an unex- 
pected skip or leap, he made his wife start backward 
with an irrepressible shriek. Then he chuckled. 

“Mrs. Quilp,” he said at last. 

“Yes, Quilp,” she meekly replied. 

Instead of pursuing the theme he had in his mind, 
Quilp rose, folded his arms again, and looked at her 
more sternly than before, while she averted her eyes and 
kept them on the ground. 

“Mrs. Quilp.” 

“Yes, Quilp.” 

“ If ever you listen to these beldames again, I’ll bite 
you.” 

With this laconic threat, which he accompanied with a 
snarl that gave him the appearance of being particularly 
in earnest, Mr. Quilp bade her clear the tea-board away, 
and bring the rum. The spirit being set before him in 
a huge case-bottle, which had originally come out of 
6ome ship’s locker, he ordered cold water and the box 
of cigars ; and these being supplied, he settled himself 
in an arm-chair with his large head and face squeezed 
up against the back, and his little legs planted on the 
table. 

“ Now, Mrs. Quilp,” he said ; “ I feel in a smoking 
numor, and shall probably blaze away all night. But sit 
where you are, if you please, in case I want you.” 

His wife returned no other reply than the customarv 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


59 


u Yes, Quilp,” and the small lord of the creation took his 
first cigar and mixed his first glass of grog. The sun 
went down and the stars peeped out, the Tower turned 
from its own proper colors to gray and from gray to 
black, the room became perfectly dark and the end of 
the cigar a deep fiery red, but still Mr. Quilp went on 
smoking and drinking in the same position, and staring 
listlessly out of window with the dog-like smile always on 
his face, save when Mrs. Quilp made some involuntary 
movement of restlessness or fatigue ; and then it ex- 
panded into a grin of delight 


60 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


CHAPTER Y. 

Whkther Mr. Quilp took any sleep by snatches of a 
few winks at a time, or whether he sat with his eyes 
wide open ail night long, certain it is that he kept his 
cigar alight, and kindled every fresh one from the ashes 
of that which was nearly consumed, without requiring 
the assistance of a candle. Nor did the striking of the 
clocks, hour after hour, appear to inspire him with any 
sense of drowsiness or any natural desire to go to rest ; 
but rather to increase his wakefulness, which he showed, 
at every such indication of the progress of the night, by 
a suppressed cackling in his throat, and a motion of his 
shoulders, like one who laughs heartily, but at the same 
time slyly and by stealth. 

At length the day broke, and poor Mrs. Quilp, shiver- 
ing with the cold of early morning and harassed by 
fatigue and want of sleep, was discovered sitting pa- 
tiently on her chair, raising her eyes at intervals in mute 
appeal to the compassion and clemency of her lord, and 
gently reminding him by an occasional cough that she 
was still unpardoned and that her penance had been of 
long duration. But her dwarfish spouse still smoked 
his cigar and drank his rum without heeding her ; and 
it was not until the sun had some time risen, and the 
activity and noise of city day were rife in the street, that 
he deigned to recognize her presence by any word or 


TIIE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


61 


sign. He might not have done so even then, but foi 
certain impatient tappings at the door which seemed to 
denote that some pretty hard knuckles were actively 
engaged upon the other side. 

“Why dear me ! ” he said looking round with a mali- 
cious grin, “ it’s day ! open the door, sweet Mrs. Quilp ! * 

His obedient wife withdrew the bolt, and her lady 
mother entered. 

Now, Mrs. Jiniwin bounced into the room with great 
impetuosity ; for, supposing her son-in-law to be still 
abed, she had come to relieve her feelings by pro- 
nouncing a strong opinion upon his general conduct and 
character. Seeing that he was up and dressed, and that 
the room appeared to have been occupied ever since she 
quitted it on the previous evening, she stopped short, in 
some embarrassment. 

Nothing escaped the hawk’s eye of the ugly little 
man, who, perfectly understanding what passed in the 
old lady’s mind, turned uglier still in the fulness of his 
satisfaction, and bade her good-morning, with a leer of 
triumph. 

“ Why, Betsy,” said the old woman, “ you haven’t 
been a — you don’t mean to say you’ve been a ” — 

“ Sitting up all night ? ” said Quilp supplying the 
conclusion of the sentence. “ Yes she has ! ” 

“ All night ! ” cried Mrs. Jiniwin. 

“Ay, all night. Is the dear old lady deaf?” said 
Quilp, with a smile of which a frown was part. “ Who 
says man and wife are bad company? Ha ha! The 
time has flown.” 

“ You’re a brute ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Jiniwin. 

“ Come come,” said Quilp, wilfully misunderstanding 
her, of course, “ you mustn’t call her names. She’s 


62 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


married now, you know. And though she did beguile 
the time and keep me from my bed, you must not be so 
tenderly careful of me as to be out of humor with her. 
Bless you for a dear old lady. Here’s your health ! ” 

“ I am much obliged to you,” returned the old woman, 
testifying by a certain restlessness in her hands a vehe- 
ment desire to shake her matronly fist at her son-in-law. 
u Oh ! I’m very much obliged to you ! ” 

“ Grateful soul ! ” cried the dwarf. “ Mrs. Quilp.” 

“ Yes, Quilp,” said the timid sufferer. 

“ Help your mother to get breakfast, Mrs. Quilp. I 
am going to the wharf this morning — the earlier, the 

o O O y 

better, so be quick.” 

Mrs. Jiniwin made a faint demonstration of rebellion 
by sitting down in a chair near the door and folding her 
arms as if in a resolute determination to do nothing. 
But a few whispered words from her daughter, and a 
kind inquiry from her son-in-law whether she felt faint, 
with a hint that there was abundance of cold water in 
the next apartment, routed these symptoms effectually, 
and she applied herself to the prescribed preparations 
with sullen diligence. 

While they were in progress, Mr. Quip withdrew to 
the adjoining room, and, turning back his coat-collar, 
proceeded to smear his countenance with a damp towel 
of very unwholesome appearance, which made his com- 
plexion rather more cloudy than it had been before. 
But., while he was thus engaged, his caution and inquisi- 
tiveness did not forsake him. With a face as sharp and 
cunning as ever, he often stopped, even in this short 
process, and stood listening for any conversation in the 
next room, of which he might be the theme. 

u All!” he said after a short effort of attention, “ it 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


63 


was not the towel over my ears, I thought it wasn’t. 
Fin a little hunchy villain and a monster, am I, Mrs 
Jiniwin ? Oh ! ” 

The pleasure ot* this discovery called up the old 
dog-like smile in full force. When he had quite done 
with it, he shook himself in a very dog-like manner, 
and rejoined the ladies. 

Mr. Quilp now walked up to the front of a looking- 
glass, and was standing there, putting on his necker- 
chief, when Mrs. Jiniwin happening to be behind him, 
could not resist the inclination she felt to shake her 
fist at her tyrant son-in-law. It was the gesture of 
an instant, but as she did so and accompanied the 
action with a menacing look, she met his eye in the 
glass, catching her in the very act. The same glance 
at the mirror conveyed to her the reflection of a hor- 
ribly grotesque and distorted face with the tongue loll- 
ing out ; and the next instant the dwarf, turning about, 
with a perfectly bland and placid look, inquired in a 
tone of great affection, 

“ How are you now, my dear old darling ? ” 

Slight and ridiculous as the incident was, it made 
him appear such a little fiend, and withal such a keen 
and knowing one, that the old woman felt too much 
afraid of him to utter a single word, and suffered her- 
self to be led with extraordinary politeness to the 
breakfast-table. Here, he by no means diminished the 
impression he had just produced, for he ate hard eggs, 
shell and all, devoured gigantic prawns with the heads 
and tails on, chewed tobacco and water-cresses at the 
same time and with extraordinary greediness, drank 
ooiling tea without winking, bit his fork and spoon 
fill they bent again, and in short performed so manj 


64 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

horrifying and uncommon acts that the women were 
nearly frightened out of their wits, and began to doubt 
if he were really a human creature. At last, having 
gone through these proceedings and many others which 
were equally a part of his system, Mr. Quilp left them, 
reduced to a very obedient and humbled state, and be- 
took himself to the riverside, where he took boat for 
the wharf on which he had bestowed his name. 

It was flood-tide when Daniel Quilp sat himself 
down in the wherry to cross to the opposite shore. A 
fleet of barges were coming lazily on, some sideways, 
some head first, some stern first ; all in a wrong- 
headed, dogged, obstinate way, bumping up against the 
larger craft, running under the bows of steamboats, 
getting into every kind of nook and corner where they 
had no business, and being crunched on all sides like 
so many walnut-shells; while each, with its pair of 
long sweeps struggling and splashing in the water, 
looked like some lumbering fish in pain. In some of 
the vessels at anchor all hands were busily engaged in 
coiling ropes, spreading out sails to dry, taking in or 
discharging their cargoes; in others, no life was visible 
but two or three tarry boys, and perhaps a barking 
dog running to and fro upon the deck or scrambling 
up to look over the side and bark the louder for the 
view. Coming slowly on through the forest of masts, 
was a great steam-ship, beating the water in short im- 
patient strokes with her heavy paddles, as though she 
wanted room to breathe, and advancing in her huge 
bulk like a sea-monster among the minnows of the 
Thames. On either hand, were long black tiers of 
colliers ; between them vessels slowly working out of 
harbor with sails glistening in the sun, and creaking 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


G5 

noise on board, reechoed from a hundred quarters. 
The water and all upon it was in active motion, dan- 
cing and buoyant and bubbling up ; while the old gra} 
Tower and piles of building on the shore, with many a 
church-spire shooting up between, looked coldly on, and 
seemed to disdain their chafing, restless neighbor. 

Daniel Quilp, who was not much affected by a bright 
morning save in so far as it spared him the trouble of 
carrying an umbrella, caused himself to be put ashore 
hard by the wharf, and proceeded thither, through a 
narrow lane which, partaking of the amphibious char- 
acter of its frequenters, had as much water as mud in 
its composition, and a very liberal supply of both. Ar- 
rived at his destination, the first object that presented 
itself to his view was a pair of very imperfectly shod 
feet elevated in the air with the soles upwards, which 
remarkable appearance was referable to the boy, who 
being of an eccentric spirit and having a natural taste 
for tumbling was now standing on his head and con- 
templating the aspect of the river under these uncom- 
mon circumstances. He was speedily brought on his 
heels by the sound of his master’s voice, and as soon 
as his head was in its right position, Mr. Quilp, to 
speak expressively in the absence of a better verb, 
“ punched it ” for him. 

“ Come, you let me alone,” said the boy, parrying 
Quilp’s hand with both his elbows alternately. “ You’ll 
get something you won’t like if you don’t, and so I 
tell you.” 

“ You dog,” snarled Quilp, “ I’ll beat you with an 
iron rod, I’ll scratch you with a rusty nail, I’ll pinch 
your eyes, if you talk to me — I will ! ” 

With these threats he clinched his hand again, and 
5 


YOU I. 


66 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


dexterously diving in between the elbows and catching 
the boy’s head as it dodged from side to side, gave it 
three or four good hard knocks. Having now carried 
his point and insisted on it, he left off. 

“ You won’t do it again,” said the boy, nodding his 
head and drawing back, with the elbows ready in case 
of the worst ; u now ! ” 

“ Stand still, you dog,” said Quilp. “ I won’t do it 
again, because I’ve done it as often as I want. Here. 
Take the key.” 

“ Why don’t you hit one of your size?” said the boy 
approaching very slowly. 

“ Where is there one of my size, you dog ? ” returned 
Quilp. “ Take the key, or I’ll brain you with it ” — 
indeed he gave him a smart tap with the handle as he 
spoke. “ Now, open the counting-house.” 

The boy sulkily complied, muttering at first, but de- 
sisting when he looked round and saw that Quilp was 
following him with a steady look. And here it may be 
remarked that between this boy and the dwarf there 
existed a strange kind of mutual liking. How born or 
bred, or how nourished upon blows and threats on one 
side, and retorts and defiances on the other, is not to 
the purpose. Quilp would certainly suffer nobody to 
contradict him but the boy, and the boy would assuredly 
not have submitted to be so knocked about by anybody 
but Quilp, when he had the power to run away at any 
time he chose. 

“ Now,” said Quilp, passing into the wooden count- 
ing-house, “ you mind the wharf. Stand upon your head 
again, and I’ll cut one of your feet off.” 

The boy made no answer, but directly Quilp had 
shut himself in, stood on his head before the door, then 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


67 


walked on his hands to the back and stood on his head 
there, and then to the opposite side and repeated the 
performance. There were, indeed, four sides to the 
counting-house, but he avoided that one where the win 
dow was, deeming it probable that Quilp would be look- 
ing out of it. This was prudent, for in point of fact 
the dwarf, knowing his disposition, was lying in wait 
at a little distance from the sash armed with a large 
piece of wood, which, being rough and jagged and 
studded in many parts with broken nails, might possi- 
bly have hurt him. 

It was a dirty little box, this counting-house, with 
nothing in it but an old rickety desk and two stools, 
a hat-peg, an ancient almanac, an inkstand with no 
ink and the stump of one pen, and an eight-day clock 
which hadn’t gone for eighteen years at least and of 
which the minute-hand had been twisted off for a 
toothpick. Daniel Quilp pulled his hat over his 
brows, climbed on to the desk (which had a flat top), 
and stretching his short length upon it went to sleep 
with the ease of an old practitioner; intending, no 
doubt, to compensate himself for the deprivation of 
last night’s rest, by a long and sound nap. 

Sound it might have been, but long it was not, for 
he had not been asleep a quarter of an hour when 
the boy opened the door and thrust in his head, which 
was like a bundle of badly-picked oakum. Quilp was 
a light sleeper and started up directly. 

“ Here’s somebody for you,” said the boy. 

“ Who?” 

"I don’t know.” 

“Ask!” said Quilp, seizing the trifle of wcod before 
mentioned and throwing it at him with such dexterity 


08 


THE .OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


that it was well the boy disappeared before it reached 
the spot on which he had stood. “ Ask, you dog.” 

Not caring to venture within range of such missiles 
again, the boy discreetly sent, in his stead, the first 
cause of the interruption, who now presented herself 
at the door. 

“ What, Nelly ! ” cried Quilp. 

“ Yes,” — said the child, hesitating whether to enter 
or retreat, for the dwarf just roused, with his dishev- 
elled hair hanging all about him, and a yellow hand- 
kerchief over his head, was something fearful to be- 
hold ; “ it’s only me, sir.” 

“ Come in,” said Quilp, without getting off the desk. 
“ Come in. Stay. Just look out into the yard, and see 
whether there’s a boy standing on his head.” 

“ No, sir,” replied Nell. “ He’s on his feet.” 

“You’re sure he is?” said Quilp. “Well. Now, 
come in and shut the door. What’s your message, 
Nelly?” 

The child handed him a letter; Mr. Quilp, without 
changing his position otherwise than to turn over a little 
more on his side and rest his chin on his hand, proceeded 
to make himself acquainted with its contents. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


69 


CHAPTER VI. 

Little Nell stood timidly by, with her eyes raised 
to the countenance of Mr. Quilp as he read the letter, 
plainly showing by her looks that while she entertained 
some fear and distrust of the little man, she was much 
inclined to laugh at his uncouth appearance and gro- 
tesque attitude. And yet, there was visible on the part 
of the child a painful anxiety for his reply, and a con- 
sciousness of his power to render it disagreeable or dis- 
tressing, which was strongly at variance with this impulse 
and restrained it more effectually than she could possibly 
have done by any efforts of her own. 

That Mr. Quilp was himself perplexed, and that in 
no small degree, by the contents of the letter, was suffi- 
ciently obvious. Before he had got through the first two 
or three lines he began to open his eyes very wide and 
to frown most horribly, the next two or three caused him 
to scratch his head in an uncommonly vicious manner, 
and when he came to the conclusion he gave a long dis- 
mal whistle indicative of surprise and dismay. After 
folding and laying it down beside him, he bit the nails 
of all his ten fingers with extreme voracity ; and taking 
it up sharply, read it again. The second perusal was to 
all appearance as unsatisfactory as the first, and plunged 
him into a profound reverie from which he awakened to 
another assault upon his nails and a long stare at the 


70 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


child, who with her eyes turned towards the ground 
awaited his further pleasure. 

u Halloa here ! ” he said at length, in a voice, and with 
a suddenness, which made the child start as though a 
gun had been fired off at her ear. “ Nelly ! ” 

“ Yes, sir ! ” 

“ Do you know what’s inside this letter, Nell ? ” 

“ No, sir ! ” 

: Are you sure, quite sure, quite certain, upon your 
soul ? ” 

“ Quite sure, sir.” 

“ Do you wish you may die if you do know, hey ? ” 
said the dwarf. 

“ Indeed I don’t know,” returned the child. 

“Well!” muttered Quilp as he marked her earnest 
look. “ I believe you. Humph! Gone already? Gone 
in four-and-twenty hours ! What the devil has he done 
with it ! That’s the riiystery ! ” 

This reflection set him scratching his head, and biting 
his nails, once more. While he was thus employed his 
features gradually relaxed into what was with him a 
cheerful smile, but which in any other man would have 
been a ghastly grin of pain ; and when the child looked 
up again she found that he was regarding her with ex- 
traordinary favor and complacency. 

“ You look very pretty to-day, Nelly, charmingly 
pretty. Are you tired, Nelly ? ” 

“ No, sir. I’m in a hurry to get back, for he will be 
anxious while I am away.” 

“ There’s no hurry, little Nell, no hurry at all,” said 
Quilp. “ How should you like to be my number two, 
Nelly ? ” 

“ To be what, sir ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


71 


“ My number two, Nelly ; my second ; my Mrs 
Quilp,” said the dwarf. 

The child looked frightened, but seemed not to unden 
stand him, which Mr. Quilp observing, hastened to ex- 
plain his meaning more distinctly. 

“ To be Mrs. Quilp the second, when Mrs. Quilp the 
first is dead, sweet Nell,” said Quilp, wrinkling up his 
eyes and luring her towards him with his bent forefinger 
“ to be my wife, my little cherry-cheeked, red-lipped 
wife. Say that Mrs. Quilp lives five years, or only four, 
you’ll be just the proper age for me. Ha ha! Be a 
good girl, Nelly, a very good girl, and see if one of these 
days you don’t come to be Mrs. Quilp of Tower Hill.” 

So far from being sustained and stimulated by this de- 
lightful prospect the child shrunk from him, and trembled. 
Mr. Quilp, either because frightening anybody afforded 
him a constitutional delight, or because it was pleasant 
to contemplate the death of Mrs. Quilp number one, and 
the elevation of Mrs. Quilp number two to her post and 
title, or because he was determined for purposes of his 
own to be agreeable and good-humored at that particular 
time, only laughed and feigned to take no heed of her 
alarm. 

“ You shall come with me to Tower Hill, and see Mrs. 
Quilp that is, directly,” said the dwarf. “ She y s very fond 
of you, Nell, though not so fond as I am. You shall 
come home with me.” 

“ I must go back indeed,” said the child. “ He told 
me to return directly I had the answer.” 

u But you haven’t it, Nelly,” retorted the dwarf, “ and 
won’t have it, and can’t have it, until I have been home, 
so you see that to do your errand, you must go^-vith me. 
Reach me yonder hat, my dear, and we’ll go directly.” 


72 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


With that, Mr. Quilp suffered himself to roll gradually 
off the desk until his short legs touched the ground, 
when he got upon them and led the way from the count- 
ing-house to the wharf outside, where the first objects 
that presented themselves were the boy who had stood 
on his head and another young gentleman of about his 
own stature, rolling in the mud together, locked in a 
tight embrace, and cuffing each other with mutual heart- 
iness. 

“ It’s Kit ! ” cried Nelly clasping her hands, “ poor 
Kit who came with me ! oh pray stop them, Mr. 
Quilp ! ” 

“ I’ll stop ’em,” cried Quilp, diving into the little 
counting-house and returning with a thick stick, “ I’ll 
stop ’em. Now, my boys, fight away. I’ll fight you 
both, I’ll take both of you, both together, both to- 
gether ! ” 

With which defiances the dwarf flourished his cudgel, 
and dancing round the combatants and treading upon 
them and skipping over them, in a kind of frenzy, laid 
about him, now on one and now on the other, in a most 
desperate manner, always aiming at their heads and 
dealing such blows as none but the veriest little savage 
would have inflicted. This being warmer work than 
they had calculated upon, speedily cooled the courage of 
the belligerents, who scrambled to their feet and called 
for quarter. 

“ I’ll beat you to a pulp, you dogs,” said Quilp, vainly 
endeavoring to get near either of them for a parting 
blow. “ I’ll bruise you till you’re copper-colored, I’ll 
break your faces till you haven’t a profile between you, 
[ will.” 

“ Come, you drop that stick or it’ll be worse for you,” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


73 


Baid his boy, dodging round him and watching an oppor- 
tunity to rush in ; “you drop that stick.” 

“ Come a little nearer, and I’ll drop it on your skull, 
you dog,” said Quilp with gleaming eyes ; “ a little 
nearer — nearer yet.” 

But the boy declined the invitation until his master 
was apparently a little off his guard, when he darted in 
and seizing the weapon tried to wrest it from his grasp. 
Quilp, who was as strong as a lion, easily kept his hold 
until the boy was tugging at it with his utmost power, 
when he suddenly let it go and sent him reeling back- 
wards, so that he fell violently upon his head. The suc- 
cess of this manoeuvre tickled Mr. Quilp beyond descrip- 
tion, and he laughed and stamped upon the ground as at 
a most irresistible jest. 

“Never mind,” said the boy, nodding his head and 
rubbing it at the same time ; “ you see if ever I offer to 
strike anybody again because they say you’re a uglier 
dwarf than can be seen anywheres for a penny, that’s 
all.” 

“ Do you mean to say, I’m not, you dog ? ” returned 
Quilp. 

“ No ! ” retorted the boy. 

“ Then what do you fight on my wharf for, you vil- 
lain ? ” said Quilp. 

“ Because he said so,” replied the boy, pointing to Kit, 
u not because you a’n’t.” 

“ Then why did he say,” bawled Kit, “ that Miss Nel- 
ly was ugly, and that she and my master was obliged to 
do whatever his master liked ? Why did he say that ? ” 

“ He said what he did because he’s a rDol, and you said 
what you did because you’re very wise nd clever — al- 
most too clever to live, unless you’re /ciy careful of 


74 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


yourself, Kit,” said Quilp with great suavity in his man- 
ner, but still more of quiet malice about his eyes and 
mouth. “ Here’s sixpence for you, Kit. Always speak 
the truth. At all times, Kit, speak the truth. Lock the 
counting-house, you dog, and bring me the key.” 

The other boy, to whom this order was addressed, did 
as lie was told, and was rewarded for his partisanship in 
behalf of his master, by a dexterous rap on the nose 
with the key, which brought the water into his eyes. 
Then, Mr. Quilp departed, with the child and Kit in a 
boat, and the boy revenged himself by dancing on his 
head at intervals on the extreme verge of the wharf, 
during the whole time they crossed the river. 

There was only Mrs. Quilp at home, and she, little 
expecting the return of her lord, was just composing 
herself for a refreshing slumber when the sound of his 
footsteps roused her. She had barely time to seem to 
be occupied in some needle-work, when he entered, ac- 
companied by the child ; having left Kit down-stairs. 

“ Here’s Nelly Trent, dear Mrs. Quilp,” said her hus- 
band. “ A glass of wine, my dear, and a biscuit, for she 
has had a long walk. She’ll sit with you, my soul, while 
I write a letter.” 

Mrs. Quilp looked tremblingly in her spouse’s face to 
know what this unusual courtesy might portend, and obe- 
dient to the summons she saw in his gesture, followed 
him into the next room. 

“ Mind what I say to you,” whispered Quilp. “ See 
if you can get out of her anything about her grandfather, 
or what they do, or how they live, or what he tells her. 
I’ve my reasons for knowing, if I can. You women talk 
more freely to one another than you do to us, and you 
have a soft, mild way with you that’ll win upon her. Do 
you hear ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


75 


“ Yes, Quilp.” 

“ Go, then. What’s the matter now ? ” 

“ Dear Quilp,” faltered his wife, “ I love the child — 

if you could do without making me deceive her ” 

The dwarf muttering a terrible oath looked round as 
if for some weapon with which to inflict condign punish- 
ment upon his disobedient wife. The submissive little 
woman hurriedly entreated him not to be angry, and 
promised to do as he bade her. 

“ Do you hear me,” whispered Quilp, nipping and 
pinching her arm ; “ worm yourself into her secrets ; I 
know you can. I’m listening, recollect. If you’re not 
sharp enough, I’ll creak the door, and woe betide you if I 
have to creak it much. Go ! ” 

Mrs. Quilp departed according to order. Her amiable 
husband, ensconcing himself behind the partly opened 
door, and applying his ear close to it, began to listen 
with a face of great craftiness and attention. 

Poor Mrs. Quilp was thinking, however, in what man- 
ner to begin; or what kind of inquiries she could make; 
it was not until the door, creaking in a very urgent man- 
ner, warned her to proceed without further consideration, 
that the sound of her voice was heard. 

“ How very often you have come backwards and for- 
wards lately to Mr. Quilp, my dear.” 

“ I have said so to grandfather, a hundred times,” re- 
turned Nell innocently. 

“ And what has he said to that ? ” 

“ Only sighed, and dropped his head, and seemed so 
sad and wretched that if you could have seen him I am 
sure you must have cried ; you could not have helped it 
more than I, I know. How that door creaks ! ” 

" It often does,” returned Mrs. Quilp with an uneasy 


76 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


glance towards it. “ But your grandfather — he used 
not to be so wretched ? ” 

“ Oh no ! ” said the child eagerly, “ so different ! we 
were once so happy and he so cheerful and contented ! 
You cannot think what a sad change has fallen on us, 
since.” 

“ I am very, very sorry, to hear you speak like this, 
my dear ! ” said Mrs. Quilp. And she spoke the truth. 

“ Thank you,” returned the child, kissing her cheek, 
“ you are always kind to me, and it is a pleasure to talk 
to you. I can speak to no one else about him, but poor 
Kit. I am very happy still, I ought to feel happier per- 
haps than I do, but you cannot think how it grieves me 
sometimes to see him alter so.” 

“ He’ll alter again, Nelly,” said Mrs. Quilp, “ and be 
what he w r as before.” 

“ Oh, if God would only let that come about ! ” said 
the child with streaming eyes ; “ but it is a long time now, 
since he first began to — I thought I saw that door mov- 
ing ! ” 

“ It’s the wind,” said Mrs. Quilp faintly. “ Began 
to ? ” — 

“ To be so thoughtful and dejected, and to forget our 
old way of spending the time in the long evenings,” said 
the child. “ I used to read to him by the fireside, and 
he sat listening, and when I stopped and we began to 
talk, he told me about my mother, and how she once 
looked and spoke just like me when she was a little 
child. Then he used to take me on his knee, and try to 
make me understand that she was not lying in her grave, 
but had flown to a beautiful country beyond the sky, 
where nothing died or ever grew old — we were very 
happy once ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“Nelly, Nelly!” — said the poor woman, “I can’t 
bear to see one as young as you, so sorrowful. Pray 
don’t cry.” 

“ I do so very seldom,” said Nell, “ but I have kept 
this to myself a long time, and I am not quite well, 1 
think, for the tears come into my eyes and I cannot kee 
them back. I don’t mind telling you my grief, for I 
know you will not tell it to any one again.” 

Mrs. Quilp turned away her head and made no an- 
swer. 

u Then,” said the child, “ we often walked in the fields 
and among the green trees, and when we came home at 
night, we liked it better for being tired, and said what a 
happy place it was. And if it was dark and rather dull, 
we used to say, what did it matter to us, for it only made 
us remember our last walk with greater pleasure, and 
look forward to our next one. But, now, we never have 
these walks, and though it is the same house, it is darker 
and much more gloomy than it used to be. Indeed ! ” 

She paused here, but though the door creaked more 
than once, Mrs. Quilp said nothing. 

“ Mind you don’t suppose,” said the child earnestly, 
“ that grandfather is less kind to me than he was. I 
think he loves me better every day, and is kinder and 
more affectionate than he was the day before. You do 
not know how fond he is of me ! ” 

“ I’m sure he loves you dearly,” said Mrs. Quilp. 

“ Indeed, indeed he does ! ” cried Nell, “ as dearly as I 
love him. But I have not told you the greatest change 
of all, and this you must never breathe again to any one. 
He has no sleep or rest, but that which he takes by day 
in his easy chair ; for every night and nearly all night 
long, he is away from home.” 


78 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Nelly f 99 

“ Hush ! ” said the child, laying her finger on her lip 
*nd looking round. “ When he comes home in the 
morning, which is generally just before day, I let him in. 
Last night he was very late, and it was quite light. I 
gaw that his face was deadly pale, that his eyes were 
bloodshot, and that his legs trembled as he walked. 
When I had gone to bed again, I heard him groan. I 
got up and ran back to him, and heard him say, before 
he knew that I was there, that he could not bear his life 
much longer, and if it was not for the child, would wish 
to die. What shall I do. Oh ! what shall I do ! ” 

The fountains of her heart were opened ; the child, 
overpowered by the weight of her sorrows and anxieties, 
by the first confidence she had ever shown, and the sym- 
pathy with which her little tale had been received, hid 
her face in the arms of her helpless friend, and burst 
into a passion of tears. 

In a few moments Mr. Quilp returned, and expressed 
the utmost surprise to find her in this condition, which 
he did very naturally and with admirable effect ; for that 
kind of acting had been rendered familiar to him by 
long practice, and he was quite at home in it. 

“ She’s tired you see, Mrs. Quilp,” said the dwarf, 
squinting in a hideous manner to imply that his wife was 
ko follow his lead. u It’s a long way from her home to 
the wharf, and then she was alarmed to see a couple of 
young scoundrels fighting, and was timorous on the water 
besides. All this together, has been too much for her. 
Poor Nell ! ” 

Mr. Quilp unintentionally adopted the very best means 
he could have devised for the recovery of his young vis- 
itor, by patting her on the head. Such an application 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


79 


from any other hand might not have produced a remark- 
able effect, but the child shrunk so quickly from hia 
touch and felt such an instinctive desire to get out of 
his reach, that she rose directly and declared herself 
ready to return. 

“ But you’d better wait, and dine with Mrs. Quilp and 
me,” said the dwarf. 

“ I have been- away too long, sir, already,” returned 
Nell, drying her eyes. 

“ Well,” said Mr. Quilp, “ if you will go, you will, 
Nelly. Here’s the note. It’s only to say that I shall 
see him to-morrow, or maybe next day, and that I 
couldn’t do that little business for him this morning 
Good-by, Nelly. Here, you sir ; take care of her, 
d’ye hear ? ” 

Kit, who appeared at the summons, deigned to make 
no reply to so needless an injunction, and after staring at 
Quilp in a threatening manner as if he doubted whether 
he might not have been the cause of Nelly shedding 
tears, and felt more than half-disposed to revenge the 
fact upon him on the mere suspicion, turned about and 
followed his young mistress, who had by this time taken 
her leave of Mrs. Quilp and departed. 

“ You’re a keen questioner, a’n’t you, Mrs. Quilp ? ” 
said the dwarf turning upon her as soon as they were 
left alone. 

“ What more could I do ? ” returned his wife mildly. 

“ What more could you do ! ” sneered Quilp, “ couldn’t 
you have done something less ? couldn’t you have done 
what you had to do, without appearing in your favorite 
part of the crocodile, you minx.” 

“ I am very sorry for the child, Quilp,” said his wife 
‘ Surely I’ve done enough. I’ve led her on to tell hei 


80 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


secret when she supposed we were alone ; and you wer€ 
by, God forgive me.” 

“ You led her on ! You did a great deal truly ! ” Said 

Quilp. “ What did I tell you about making me creak 

the door ? It’s lucky for you that from what she let fall, 
I’ve got the clew I want, for if I hadn’t, I’d have visited 
the failure upon you.” 

Mrs. Quilp being fully persuaded of this, made no 
reply: Her husband added with some exultation, 

“ But you may thank your fortunate stars — the same 
stars that made you Mrs. Quilp — you may thank them 
that I’m upon the old gentleman’s track and have got a 
new light. So let me hear no more about this matter, 
now, or at any other time, and don’t get anything too 

nice for dinner, for I shan’t be home to it.” 

So saying, Mr. Quilp put his hat on and took himself 
off, and Mrs. Quilp, who was afflicted beyond measure by 
the recollection of the part she had just acted, shut her- 
self up in her chamber, and smothering her head in the 
bedclothes bemoaned her fault more bitterly than many 
less tender-hearted persons would have mourned a much 
greater offence ; for, in the majority of cases, conscience 
is an elastic and very flexible article, which will bear a 
deal of stretching and adapt itself to a great variety of 
circumstances. Some people by prudent management 
and leaving it off piece by piece, like a flannel waistcoat 
in warm weather, even contrive, in time, to dispense with 
it altogether ; but there be others who can assume the 
garment and throw it off at pleasure ; and this, being the 
greatest and most convenient improvement, is the one 
most in vogue. 


TIIE OLD CURIOSITY SHOT. 


fcl 


CHAPTER VII. 

u Fred,” said Mr. Swiveller, “ remember the once 
popular melody of i Begone dull care ; 9 fan the sink- 
ing flame of hilarity with the wing of friendship ; and 
pass the rosy wine ! ” 

Mr Richard Swiveller’s apartments were in the 
neighborhood of Drury Lane, and in addition to this 
conveniency of situation had the advantage of being over 
a tobacconist’s shop, so that he was enabled to procure a 
refreshing sneeze at any time by merely stepping out on 
the staircase, and was saved the trouble and expense of 
maintaining a snuff-box. It was in these apartments that 
Mr. Swiveller made use of the expressions above re- 
corded, for the consolation and encouragement of his 
desponding friend ; and' it may not be uninteresting 01 
improper to remark, that even these brief observations 
partook in a double sense of the figurative and poetical 
character of Mr. Swiveller’s mind, as the rosy wine was 
in fact represented by one glass of cold gin-and-water 
which was replenished, as occasion required, from a bot- 
tle and jug upon the table, and was passed from one to 
another, in a scarcity of tumblers which, as Mr. Swivel* 
leFs was a bachelor’s establishment, may be acknowl- 
edged without a blush. By a like pleasar t fiction his 
single chamber was always mentioned in the plural num- 
ber. In its disengaged times, the tobacconist had an 

VOL. i. 6 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


82 

nounced it in his window as “ apartments ” for a single 
gentleman, and Mr. Swiveller, following up the hint, 
never failed to speak of it as his rooms, his lodgings, or 
his chambers : conveying to his hearers a notion of indef- 
inite space, and leaving their imaginations to wander 
through long suites of lofty halls, at pleasure. 

In this flight of fancy, Mr. Swiveller was assisted by 
a deceptive piece of furniture, in reality a bedstead, but 
in semblance a bookcase, which occupied a prominent 
situation in his chamber, and seemed to defy suspicion 
and challenge inquiry. There is no doubt that, by day, 
Mr. Swiveller firmly believed this secret convenience to 
be a bookcase and nothing more ; that he closed his eyes 
to the bed, resolutely denied the existence of the blank- 
ets, and spurned the bolster from his thoughts. No word 
of its real use, no hint of its nightly service, no allusion 
to its peculiar properties, had ever passed between him 
and his most intimate friends. Implicit faith in the de- 
ception was the first article of his creed. To be the 
friend of Swiveller you must reject all circumstantial 
evidence, all reason, observation, and experience, and 
repose a blind belief in the bookcase. It was his pet 
weakness, and he cherished it. 

“ Fred ! ” said Mr. Swiveller, finding that his former 
adjuration had been productive of no effect. “ Pass the 
rosy ! ” 

Young Trent, with an impatient gesture, pushed the 
glass towards him, and fell again into the moody attitude 
from which he had been unwillingly roused. 

“ I’ll give you, Fred,” said his friend, stirring the mixt- 
ure, “ a little sentiment appropriate to the occasion. 
Here’s May the ” 

44 Pshaw ! ” interposed the other. “ You worry me to 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


83 


death with your chattering. You can be merry under 
any circumstances.” 

“ Why, Mr. Trent,” returned Dick, “ there is a prov- 
erb which talks about being merry and wise. There are 
some people who can be merry and can’t be wise, and 
some who can be wise (or think they can) and can’t bo 
merry. I’m one of the first sort. If the proverb’s a 
good ’un, I suppose it’s better to keep to half of it than 
none ; at all events I’d rather be merry and not wise, 
than like you — neither one nor t’other.” 

“ Bah ! ” muttered his friend, peevishly. 

“ With all my heart,” said Mr. Swiveller. “ In the 
polite circles I believe this sort of thing isn’t usually 
said to a gentleman in his own apartments, but never 
mind that. Make yourself at home.” Adding to this 
retort an observation to the effect that his friend ap- 
peared to be rather “ cranky ” in point of temper, Rich- 
ard Swiveller finished the rosy and applied himself to 
the composition of another glassful, in which, after tast- 
ing it with great relish, he proposed a toast to an imag- 
inary company. 

“ Gentlemen, I’ll give you if you please Success to 
the ancient family of the Swivellers, and good luck to 
Mr. Richard in particular — Mr. Richard, gentlemen,” 
said Dick with great emphasis, “ who spends all his 
money on his friends and is Bah ! ’d for his pains. 
Hear, hear ! ” 

“ Dick ! ” said the other, returning to his seat after 
having paced the room twice or thrice, “ will you talk 
seriously for two minutes, if I show you a way to make 
your fortune with very little trouble ? ” 

“You’ve shown me so many,” returned Dick, “and 
nothing has come of any of ’em but empty pockets ” — 


84 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ You’ll tell a different story of this one, before a very 
long time is over,” said his companion drawing his chair 
to the table. “ You saw my sister Nell?” 

“ What about her ? ” returned Dick. 

“ She has a pretty face, has she not ? ” 

“ Why, certainly,” replied Dick, “ I must say for her 
that there’s not any very strong family likeness between 
her and you.” 

“ Has she a pretty face ? ” repeated his friend impa- 
tiently. 

“Yes,” said Dick, “she has a pretty face, a very 
pretty face. What of that ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you,” returned his friend. “ It’s very plain 
that the old man and I, will remain at daggers-drawn to 
the end of our lives, and that I have nothing to expect 
from him. You see that, I suppose ? ” 

“A bat might see that, with the sun shining,” said 
Dick. 

“ It’s equally plain that the money which the old flint 
— rot him — first taught me to expect that I should 
share with her at his death, will all be hers, is it 
not ? ” 

“ I should say it was,” replied Dick ; “ unless the way 
in which I put the case to him, made an impression. It 
may have done so. It was powerful, Fred. 4 Here is a 
jolly old grandfather 9 — that was strong, I thought — 
very friendly and natural. Did it strike you in that 
way ? ” 

“It didn’t strike him” returned the other, “so we 
needn’t discuss it. Now look here. Nell is nearly 
fourteen.” 

“ Fine girl of her age, but small,” observed Richard 
Swiveller parenthetically. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


85 


“ If I am to go on, be quiet for one minute,” returned 
Trent, fretting at the very slight interest the other ap 
peared to take in the conversation. u Now I’m coming 
to the point.” 

“ That’s right,” said Dick. 

“ The girl has strong affections, and brought up as she 
has been, may, at her age, be easily influenced and per- 
suaded. If I take her in hand, I will be bound by a 
very little coaxing and threatening to bend her to my 
will. Not to beat about the bush (for the advantages of 
the scheme would take a week to tell) what’s to prevent 
your marrying her ? ” 

Richard Swiveller, who had been looking over th< 
rim of the tumbler while his companion addressed the 
foregoing remarks to him with great energy and earnest- 
ness of manner, no sooner heard these words than he 
evinced the utmost consternation, and with difficulty 
ejaculated the monosyllable, 

“ What ! ” 

“ I say, what’s to prevent,” repeated the other, with a 
steadiness of manner, of the effect of which upon his 
companion he was well assured by long experience, 
“ what’s to prevent your marrying her ? ” 

“ And she 6 nearly fourteen ’ ! ” cried Dick. 

“ I don’t mean marrying her now ” — returned the 
brother angrily ; “ say in two years’ time, in three, in 
four. Does the old man look like a long-liver?” 

“ He don’t look like it,” said Dick shaking his head, 
“but these old people — there’s no trusting ’em, Fred. 
There’s an aunt of mine down in Dorsetshire that was 
going to die when I was eight years old, and hasn’t kept 
her word yet. They’re so aggravating, so unprincipled, 
so spiteful — unless there’s apoplexy in the family, Fred, 


&6 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


you can’t calculate upon ’em, and even then they deceive 
you just as often as not.” 

“ Look at the worst side of the question then,” said 
Trent as steadily as before, and keeping his eyes upon 
his friend. “ Suppose he lives.” 

“To be sure,” said Dick. “There’s the rub.” 

“ I say,” resumed his friend, “ suppose he lives, and 1 
persuaded, or if the word sounds more feasible, forced, 
Nell to a secret marriage with you. What do you think 
would come of that ? ” 

“ A family and an annual income of nothing, to keep 
’em on,” said Richard Swiveller after some reflection. 

“ I tell you,” returned the other with an increased 
earnestness, which, whether it were real or assumed, had 
the same effect on his companion, “ that he lives for her, 
that his whole energies and thoughts are bound up in 
her, that he would no more disinherit her for an act of 
disobedience than he would take me into his favor again 
for any act of obedience or virtue that I could possibly 
be guilty of. He could not do it. You or any other 
man with eyes in his head may see that, if he chooses.” 

“ It seems improbable certainly,” said Dick, mus- 
ing. 

“ It seems improbable because it is improbable,” his 
friend returned. “ If you would furnish him with an 
additional inducement to forgive you, let there be an 
irreconcilable breach, a most deadly quarrel, between 
you and me — let there be a pretence of such a thing, 
I mean, of course — and he’ll do so fast enough. As 
to Nell, constant dropping will wear away a stone ; you 
know you may trust to me as far as she is concerned. 
So, whether he lives or dies, what does it come to ? 
That you become the sole inheritor of the wealth of this 


iHE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


87 


rich old Iwiks ; that you and I spend it together, 
and that you get, into the bargain, a beautiful youn£ 
wife.” 

“ I suppose there’s no doubt about his being rich ” — 
said Dick. 

“ Doubt ! Did you hear what he let fall the othei 
day when we were there ? Doubt ! What will yoi 
doubt next, Dick ? ” 

It would be tedious to pursue the conversation through 
all its artful windings, or to develop the gradual ap- 
proaches by which the heart of Richard Swiveller was 
gained. It is sufficient to know that vanity, interest, 
poverty, and every spendthrift consideration urged him 
to look upon the proposal with favor, and that where 
all other inducements were wanting, the habitual care- 
lessness of his disposition stepped in and still weighed 
down the scale on the same side. To these impulses 
must b^ added the complete ascendency which his friend 
had long been accustomed to exercise over him — an 
ascendency exerted in the beginning sorely at the ex- 
pense of the unfortunate Dick’s purse and prospects, but 
still maintained without the slightest relaxation, notwith- 
standing that Dick suffered for all his friend’s vices, and 
was, in nine cases out of ten, looked upon as his design- 
ing tempter when he was indeed nothing but his thought- 
less light-headed tool. 

The motives on the other side were something deeper 
than any which Richard Swiveller entertained or under- 
stood, but these being left to their own development, 
require no present elucidation. The negotiation was 
concluded very pleasantly, and Mr. Swiveller was in the 
act of stating in flowery terms that he hau no insur- 
mountable objection to marrying anybody plentifully 


88 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


endowed with money or movables, who could be in 
duced to take him, when he was interrupted in his ob* 
servations by a knock at the door, and the consequent 
necessity of crying “ Come in.” 

The door was opened, but nothing came in except a 
soapy arm and a strong gush of tobacco. The gush of 
tobacco came from the shop down-stairs, and the soapy 
arm proceeded from the body of a servant-girl, who 
being then and there engaged in cleaning the stairs had 
just drawn it out of a warm pail to take in a letter, 
which letter she now held in her hand ; proclaiming 
aloud, with that quick perception of surnames peculiar 
to her class, that it was for Mister Snivelling. 

Dick looked rather pale and foolish when he glanced 
at the direction, and still more so when he came to look 
at the inside ; observing that this w r as one of the incon- 
veniences of being a lady’s man, and that it was very 
easy to talk as they had been talking, but he had quite 
forgotten her. 

“ Her . Who ? ” demanded Trent. 

“ Sophy Wackles,” said Dick. 

“ Who’s she?” 

“ She’s all my fancy painted her, sir, that’s what she 
is,” said Mr. Swiveller, taking a long pull at “ the rosy ” 
and looking gravely at his friend. “ She is lovely, she’s 
divine. You know her.” 

“I remember,” said his companion carelessly. “What 
of her ? ” 

“ Why, sir,” returned Dick, “ between Miss Sophia 
Wackles and the humble individual who has now the 
honor to address you, warm and tender sentiments have 
been engendered — sentiments of the most honorable 
and inspiring kind. The Goddess Diana, sir, that calls 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


S9 


aloud for the chase, is not more particular in her be- 
havior than Sophia Wackles ; I can tell you that.” 

“ Am I to believe there’s anything real in what you 
6ay ? ” demanded his friend ; “ you don’t mean to say tha% 
any love-making has been going on ? ” 

“ Love-making, yes. Promising, no,” said Dick* 
“ There can be no action for breach, that’s one comfort' 
I’ve never committed myself in writing, Fred.” 

“ And what’s in the letter pray ? ” 

“A reminder, Fred, for to-night — a small party of 
twenty — making two hundred light fantastic toes in all, 
supposing every lady and gentleman to have the proper 
complement. I must go, if it’s only to # begin breaking 
off the affair — I’ll do it, don’t you be afraid. I should 
like to know whether she left this, herself. If she did, 
unconscious of any bar to her happiness, it’s affecting, 
Fred.” 

To solve this question, Mr. Swiveller summoned the 
handmaid and ascertained that Miss Sophy Wackles 
had indeed left the letter with her own hands ; that she 
had come accompanied, for decorum’s sake no doubt, by 
a younger Miss Wackles ; and that on learning that Mr 
Swiveller was at home and being requested to walk up- 
stairs, she was extremely shocked and professed that she 
would rather die. Mr. Swiveller heard this account with 
a degree of admiration not altogether consistent with the 
project in which he had just concurred, but his friend 
attached very little importance to his behavior in this 
respect, probably because he knew that he had influ- 
ence sufficient to control Richard Swiveller’s proceed- 
ings in this or any other matter, whenever he deemed it 
necessary, for the advancement of his own purposes, to 
?xert it. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


DO 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Business disposed of, Mr. Swiveller was inwardly re- 
minded of its being nigh dinner-time, and to the intent 
that his health might not be endangered by longer absti- 
nence, despatched a message to the nearest eating-house 
requiring an immediate supply of boiled beef and greens 
for two. With this demand, however, the eating-house 
(having experience of its customer) declined to comply, 
churlishly sending back for answer that if Mr. Swiveller 
stood in need of beef perhaps he would be so obliging 
as to come there and eat it, bringing with him as grace 
before meat, the amount of a certain small account which 
had been long outstanding. Not at all intimidated by 
this rebuff, but rather sharpened in wits and appetite, 
Mr. Swiveller forwarded the same message to another 
and more distant eating-house, adding to it by way of a 
rider that the gentleman was induced to send so far, not 
only by the great fame and popularity its beef had ac- 
quired, but in consequence of the extreme toughness of 
the beef retailed at the obdurate cook’s shop, which ren 
dered it quite unfit not merely for gentlemanly food but 
for any human consumption. The good effect of this pol- 
itic course was demonstrated by the speedy arrival of a 
small pewter pyramid, curiously constructed of platters 
and covers, whereof the boiled-beef-plates formed the 
base, and a foaming quart-pot the apex; the stiucture 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


91 


being resolved into its component parts afforded all 
things requisite and necessary for a hearty meal, to 
which Mr. Swiveller and his friend applied themselves 
with great keenness and enjoyment. 

“ May the present moment,” said Dick, sticking his 
fork into a large carbuncular potato, “ be the worst of 
our lives ! I like this plan of sending ’em with the peel 
on ; there’s a charm in drawing a potato from its native 
element (if I may so express it) to which the rich and 
powerful are strangers. Ah ! ‘ Man wants but little here 
below, nor wants that little long ! ’ How true that is ! — 
after dinner.” 

“ I hope the eating-house keeper will want but little 
and that he may not want that little long,” returned his 
companion ; “ but I suspect you’ve no means of paying 
for this ! ” 

“ I shall be passing presently, and I’ll call,” said Dick, 
winking his eye significantly. “ The waiter’s quite help- 
less. The goods are gone, Fred, and there’s an end of 
it.” 

In point of fact, it would seem that the waiter felt 
this wholesome truth, for when he returned for the 
empty plates and dishes and was informed by Mr. 
Swiveller with dignified carelessness that he would call 
and settle when he should be passing presently, he dis- 
played some perturbation of spirit, and muttered a few 
remarks about “ payment on delivery,” and “ no trust,” 
and other unpleasant subjects, but was fain to content 
himself with inquiring at what hour it was likely the 
gentleman would call, in order that being personally re- 
sponsible for the beef, greens, and sundries, he might 
take care to be in the way at the time. Mr. Swiveller 
after mentally calculating his engagements to a nicety 


$2 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


replied that he should look in at from two minutes before 
six to seven minutes past ; and the man disappearing with 
this feeble consolation, Richard Swiveller took a greasy 
memorandum-book from his pocket and made an entry 
therein. 

“ Is that a reminder, in case you should forget to 
call ? ” said Trent with a sneer. 

“ Not exactly, Fred,” replied the imperturbable Rich- 
ard, continuing to write with a business-like air, “ I enter 
in this little book the names of the streets that I can’t go 
down while the shops are open. This dinner to-day 
closes Long Acre. I bought a pair of boots in Great 
Queen Street last week, and made that no thoroughfare 
too. There’s only one avenue to the Strand left open 
now, and I shall have to stop up that to-night with a 
pair of gloves. The roads are closing so fast in every 
direction, that in about a month’s time, unless my aunt 
sends me a remittance, I shall have to go three or four 
miles out of town to get over the way.” 

“ There’s no fear of her failing, in the end ? ” said 
Trent. 

“ Why, I hope not,” returned Mr. Swiveller, “ but the 
average number of letters it takes to soften her is six, 
and this time we have got as far as eight without any 
effect at all. I’ll write another to-morrow morning. I 
mean to blot it a good deal and shake some water over 
it out of the pepper-castor, to make it look penitent. 

I’m in such a state of mind that I hardly know what 
I write ’ — blot — 6 if you could see me at this minute 
shedding tears for my past misconduct ’ — pepper-castor 
— 6 ray hand trembles when I think ’ — blot again — if 
that don’t produce the effect, it’s all over.” 

By this time Mr. Swiveller had finished his entry, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


93 


and he now replaced his pencil in its little sheath and 
closed the book, in a perfectly grave and serious frame 
of mind. His friend discovered that it was time for him 
to fulfil some other engagement, and Richard Swiveller 
was accordingly left alone, in company with the rosy 
wine and his own meditations touching Miss Soph} 
Wackles. 

“ It’s rather sudden,” said Dick, shaking his head with 
a look of infinite wisdom, and running on (as he was ac- 
customed to do) with scraps of verse as if they were 
only prose in a hurry ; “ when the heart of a man is 
depressed with fears, the mist is dispelled when Miss 
Wackles appears: she's a very nice girl. She's like 
the red red rose that's newly sprung in June — there’s 
no denying that — she's also like a melody that’s sweetly 
played in tune. It’s really very sudden. Not that there’s 
any need, on account of Fred’s little sister, to turn cool 
directly, but it’s better not to go too far. If I begin to 
cool at all I must begin at once, I see that. There’s 
the chance of an action for breach, that’s one reason. 
There’s the chance of Sophy’s getting another husband, 
that’s another. There’s the chance of — no, there’s no 
chance of that, but it’s as well to be on the safe side.” 

This undeveloped consideration was the possibility, 
which Richard Swiveller sought to conceal even from 
himself, of his not being proof against the charms of 
Miss Wackles, and in some unguarded moment, by link 
ing his fortunes to hers forever, of putting it out of 
his own power to further the notable scheme to which 
he had so readily become a party. For all these rea- 
sons, he decided to pick a quarrel with Miss Wackles 
without delay, and casting about for a pretext deter- 
mined in favor of groundless jealousy. Having made 


94 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


up bis mind on this important point, lie circulated the 
glass (from his right hand to his left, and back again) 
pretty freely, to enable him to act his part with the 
greater discretion, and then, after making some slight 
improvements in his toilet, bent his steps towards the 
pot hallowed by the fair object of his meditations. 

This spot was at Chelsea, for there Miss Sophia 
Wackles resided with her widowed mother and two 
sisters, in conjunction with whom she maintained a 
very small day-school for young ladies of proportionate 
dimensions ; a circumstance which was made known to 
the neighborhood by an oval board over the front first- 
floor window, whereon appeared, in circumambient flour- 
ishes, the words “ Ladies’ Seminary ; ” and which was 
further published and proclaimed at intervals between 
the hours of half-past nine and ten in the morning, by 
a straggling and solitary young lady of tender years 
standing on the scraper on the tips of her toes and mak- 
ing futile attempts to reach the knocker w r ith a spelling- 
book. The several duties of instruction in this estab- 
lishment were thus discharged. English grammar, com- 
position, geography, and the use of the dumb-bells, by 
Miss Melissa Wackles ; writing, arithmetic, dancing, 
music, and general fascination, by Miss Sophy Wao 
kies ; the art of needlework, marking, and samplery, by 
Miss Jane Wackles; corporal punishment, fasting, and 
other tortures and terrors, by Mrs. Wackles. Miss Me- 
issa Wackles was the eldest daughter, Miss Sophy the 
next, and Miss Jane the youngest. Miss Melissa might 
liave seen five-and-thirty summers or thereabouts, and 
verged on the autumnal ; Miss Sophy was a fresh, 
good-humored, buxom girl of twenty ; and Miss Jane 
numbered scarcely sixteen years. Mrs. Wackles was 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


95 


an excellent, but rather venomous old lady of three- 
score. 

To this Ladies* Seminary then, Richard Svviveller 
hied, with designs obnoxious to the peace of the fair So- 
phia, who, arrayed in virgin white, embellished by no 
ornament but one blushing rose, received him on his ar 
rival, in the midst of very elegant not to say brilliant 
preparations ; such as the embellishment of the room 
with the little flower-pots which always stood on the win- 
dow-sill outside, save in windy weather when they blew 
into the area ; the choice attire of the day-scholars who 
were allowed to grace the festival ; the unwonted curls 
of Miss Jane Wackles who had kept her head during 
the whole of the preceding day screwed up tight in a 
yellow play-bill ; and the solemn gentility and stately 
bearing of the old lady and her eldest daughter, which 
struck Mr. Swiveller as being uncommon, but made no 
further impression upon him. 

The truth is — and, as there is no accounting for 
tastes, even a taste so strange as this may be recorded 
without being looked upon as a wilful and malicious in- 
vention — the truth is, that neither Mrs. Wackles nor 
her eldest daughter had at any time greatly favored the 
pretensions of Mr. Swiveller : they being accustomed to 
make slight mention of him as “ a gay young man,” and 
to sigh and shake their heads ominously whenever his 
name was mentioned. Mr. Swiveller’s conduct in respec 
to Miss Sophy having been of that vague and dilator} 
kind which is usually looked upon as betokening no fixed 
matrimonial intentions, the young lady herself began in 
course of time to deem it highly desirable, that it should 
be brought to an issue one w T ay or other. Hence, she 
had at last consented to play off, against Richard Swivel- 


96 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


fer, a stricken market-gardener known to be ready with 
his offer on the smallest encouragement, and hence — as 
this occasion had been specially assigned for the purpose 
— that great anxiety on her part for Richard Swiveller’s 
presence which had occasioned her to leave the note he 
ms been seen to receive. “ If he has any expectations 
it all or any means of keeping a wife well,” said Mrs. 
Wackles to her eldest daughter, u he’ll state ’em to us 
now or never.” — “ If he really cares about me,” thought 
Miss Sophy, “ he must tell me so, to-night.” 

But all these sayings and doings and thinking? being 
unknown to Mr. Swiveller, affected him not in the least ? 
he was debating in his mind how he could best turn jeal- 
ous, and wishing that Sophy were, for that occasion only, 
far less pretty than she was, or that she were her own 
sister, which would have served his turn as well, when 
the company came, and among them the market-gar- 
dener, whose name was Cheggs. But Mr. Cheggs came 
not alone or unsupported, for he prudently brought along 
with him his sister, Miss Cheggs, who making straight 
to Miss Sophy and taking her by both hands, and kissing 
her on both cheeks, hoped in an audible whisper that 
they had not come too early. 

“ Too early, no ! ” replied Miss Sophy. 

“ Oh my dear,” rejoined Miss Cheggs in the same 
whisper as before, “ I’ve been so tormented, so worried, 
that it’s a mercy we were not here at four o’clock in the 
afternoon. Alick has been in buck a state of impatience 
to come ! You’d hardly believe that he was dressed be- 
fore dinner-time and has been looking at the clock and 
teasing me ever since. It’s all your fault, you naughty 
thing.” 

Hereupon Miss Sophy blushed, and Mr. Cheggs (who 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


97 


was bashful before ladies) blushed too, and Miss Sophy’s 
mother and sisters, to prevent Mr. Cheggs from blushing 
more, lavished civilities and attentions upon him, and left 
Richard Swiveller to take care of himself. Here was 
the very thing he wanted ; here was good cause, reason, 
and foundation, for pretending to be angry ; but having 
this cause, reason, and foundation which he had come ex- 
pressly to seek, not expecting to find, Richard Swiveller 
was angry in sound earnest, and wondered what the 
devil Cheggs meant by his impudence. 

However, Mr. Swiveller had Miss Sophy’s hand for 
the first quadrille (country-dances being low, were utterly 
proscribed), and so gained an advantage over his rival, 
who sat despondingly in a corner and contemplated the 
glorious figure of the young lady as she moved through 
the mazy dance. Nor was this the only start Mr. Swiv- 
eller had of the market-gardener ; for, determining to 
show the family what quality of man they trifled with, 
and influenced perhaps by his late libations, he per- 
formed such feats of agility and such spins and twirls as 
filled the company with astonishment, and in particular 
caused a very long gentleman who was dancing witli a 
very short scholar, to stand quite transfixed by wonder 
and admiration. Even Mrs. Wackles forgot for the mo- 
ment to snub three small young ladies who were inclined 
to be happy, and could not repress a rising thought that 
to have such a dancer as that in the family would be a 
pride indeed. 

At this momentous crisis, Miss Cheggs proved herself 
a vigorous and useful ally ; for, not confining herself to 
expressing by scornful smiles a contempt for Mr. Swivel- 
ler’s accomplishments, she took every opportunity of 
whispering into Miss Sophy’s ear expressions of condo- 

VOL. i. 7 


98 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ience and sympathy on her being worried by such a ridio 
ulous creature, declaring that she was frightened to death 
lest Alick should fall upon him, and beat him, in the 
fulness of his wrath, and entreating Miss Sophy to ob- 
serve how the eyes of the said Alick gleamed with love 
and fury ; passions, it may be observed, which being too 
much for his eyes, rushed into his nose also, and suffused 
it with a crimson glow'. 

“ You must dance with Miss Cheggs,” said Miss 
Sophy to Dick Swiveller, after she had herself danced 
twice with Mr. Cheggs, and made great show of encour- 
aging his advances. “ She’s such a nice girl — and her 
brother’s quite delightful.” 

“ Quite delightful is he ? ” muttered Dick. “ Quite 
delighted too, I should say, from the manner in which 
he’s looking this way.” 

Here Miss Jane (previously instructed for the pur- 
pose) interposed her many curls and whispered her sis- 
ter to observe how jealous Mr. Cheggs was. 

“ Jealous ! Like his impudence ! ” said Richard Swiv- 
eller. 

“ His impudence, Mr. Swiveller ! ” said Miss Jane, 
tossing her head. “ Take care he don’t hear you, sir, or 
you may be sorry for it.” 

“ Oh pray, Jane ” — said Miss Sophy. 

“ Nonsense ! ” replied her sister, “ why shouldn’t Mr. 
Cheggs be jealous if he likes ? I like that, certainly 
Mr. Cheggs has as good a right to be jealous as anybody 
else has, and perhaps he may have a better right soon, 
if he hasn’t already. You know best about that, 
Sophy ! ” 

Though this was a concerted plot between Miss Sophy 
and her sister, originating in humane intentions, and 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


99 


having for its object the inducing Mr.'Swiveller to de- 
clare himself in time, it failed in its effect ; for Miss 
Jane being one of those young ladies who are prema- 
turely shrill and shrewish, gave such undue importance 
to her part, that Mr. SwiveUer retired in dudgeon, re 
signing his mistress to Mr. Cheggs, and conveying a 
defiance into his looks which that gentleman indignantly 
returned. 

“ Did you speak to me, sir ? ” said Mr. Cheggs, follow- 
ing him into a corner. — “ Have the kindness to smile, 
sir, in order that we may not be suspected. — Did you 
speak to me, sir ? ” 

Mr. Swiveller looked with a supercilious smile at Mr. 
Cheggs’s toes, then raised his eyes from them to his 
ankle, from that to his shin, from that to his knee, and so 
on very gradually, keeping up his right leg, until he 
reached his waistcoat, when he raised his eyes from but- 
ton to button until he reached his chin, and travelling 
straight up the middle of his nose came at last to his 
eyes, when he said abruptly, 

“ No, sir, I didn’t.” 

“ Hem ! ” said Mr. Cheggs, glancing over his shoulder, 
have the goodness to smile again, sir. Perhaps you 
wished to speak to me, sir.” 

“ No, sir, I didn’t do that, either.” 

“ Perhaps you may have nothing to say to me now , 
sir,” said Mr. Cheggs fiercely. 

At these words, Richard Swiveller withdrew his eyes 
from Mr. Cheggs’s face, and travelling down the middle 
of his nose, and down his waistcoat, and down Lis righ 
leg, reached his toes again, and carefully surveyed them ; 
this done, he crossed over, and coming up the other leg, 
and thence approaching by the waistcoat as before, said 
when be had got to his eyes, “ No, sir, I haven’t.” 


100 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Oil indeed, sir ! ” said Mr. Cheggs. “ I’m glad to 
, hear it. You know where I’m to be found, I suppose, 
sir, in case you should have anything to say to me ? ” 
“ I can easily inquire, sir, when I want to know.” 

“ There’s nothing more we need say, I believe, sir ? ” 

“ Nothing more, sir.” — With that they closed the tre* 
mendous dialogue by frowning mutually. Mr. Cheggs 
hastened to tender his hand to Miss Sophy, and Mr. 
Swiveller sat himself down in a corner in a very moody 
state. 

Hard by this corner, Mrs. Wackles and Miss Wackles 
were seated, looking on at the dance ; and unto Mrs. and 
Miss Wackles, Miss Cheggs occasionally darted when 
her partner was occupied with his share of the figure, 
and made some remark or other which was gall and 
wormwood to Richard Swiveller’s soul. Looking into 
the eyes of Mrs. and Miss Wackles for encouragement, 
and sitting very upright and uncomfortable on a couple 
of hard stools, were two of the day-scholars ; and when 
Miss Wackles smiled, and Mrs. Wackles smiled, the two 
little girls on the stools sought to curry favor by smiling 
likewise, in gracious acknowledgment of which attention 
the old lady frowned them down instantly, and said that 
if they dared to be guilty of such an impertinence again, 
they should be sent under convoy to their respective 
homes. This threat caused one of the young ladies, she 
being of a weak and trembling temperament, to shed 
tears, and for this offence they were both filed off imme- 
diately, with a dreadful promptitude that struck terror 
into the souls of all the pupils. 

“ I’ve got such news for you,” said Miss Cheggs, ap- 
proaching once more, “ Alick has been saying such 
things to Sophy. Upon my word, you know, it’s quite 
serious and in earnest, that’s clear.” 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 


101 


“ What’s he been saying, my dear ? ” demanded Mrs, 
Wackles. 

“All manner of things,” replied Miss Cheggs, “you 
can’t think how out he has been speaking ! ” 

Richard Swiveller considered it advisable to hear n<?» 
more, but taking advantage of a pause in the dancing 
and the approach of Mr. Cheggs to pay his court to the 
old lady, swaggered with an extremely careful assump- 
tion of extreme carelessness towards the door, passing on 
the way Miss Jane Wackles, who in all the glory of her 
curls was holding a flirtation (as good practice when no 
better was to be had) with a feeble old gentleman who 
lodged in the parlor. Near the door sat Miss. Sophy, 
still fluttered and confused by the attentions of Mr. 
Cheggs, and by her side Richard Swiveller lingered for 
a moment to exchange a few parting words. 

“ My boat is on the shore and my bark is on the sea 
but before I pass this door I will say farewell to thee,’ 
murmured Dick, looking gloomily upon her. 

“ Are you going ? ” said Miss Sophy, whose heart sunk 
within her at the result of her stratagem, but who affected 
a light indifference notwithstanding. 

“ Am I going ! ” echoed Dick bitterly. “ Yes, I am. 
What then?” 

“ Nothing, except that it’s very early,” said Miss So- 
phy ; “but you are your own master of course.” 

“ I would that I had been my own mistress too,” said 
Dick, “ before I had ever entertained a thought of you. 
Miss Wackles, I believed you true, and I was blest in so 
believing, but now I mourn that e’er I knew, a girl so 
fair yet so deceiving.” 

Miss Sophy bit her lip and affected to look with great 
•nterest after Mr. Cheggs, who was quaffing lemonade in 
,he distance. 


102 


THE OLD JURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ I came here,” said Dick, rather oblivious of the pur* 
pose with which he had really come, “ with my bosom 
expanded, my heart dilated, and my sentiments of a cor- 
responding description. I go away with feelings that 
may be conceived, but cannot be described : feeling 
within myself the desolating truth that my best affec 
tions have experienced, this night, a stifler ! ” 

“ I am sure I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Swiv- 
eller,” said Miss Sophy with downcast eyes. u I’m very 
sorry if” 

“ Sorry, ma’am ! ” said Dick, “ sorry in the possession 
of a Cheggs ! But I wish you a very good night : con- 
cluding with this slight remark, that there is a young 
lady growing up at this present moment for me, who has 
not only great personal attractions but great wealth, and 
who has requested her next of kin to propose for my 
hand, which, having a regard for some members of her 
family, I have consented to promise. It’s a gratifying 
circumstance which you’ll be glad to hear, that a young 
and lovely girl is growing into a woman expressly on 
my account, and is now saving up for me. I thought 
I’d mention it. I have now merely to apologize for tres- 
passing so long upon your attention. Good-night ! ” 

• “ There’s one good thing springs out of all this,” said 
Richard Swiveller to himself when he had reached home 
and was hanging over the candle with the extinguisher 
in his hand, “ which is, that I now go heart and soul 
neck and heels, with Fred in all his scheme about littl 
Nelly, and right glad he’ll be to find me so strong upon 
it. He shall know all about that to-morrow, and in the 
mean time, as it’s rather late, I’ll try and get a wink or 
two of the balmy.” 

“ The balmy ” came almost as soon as it was courted. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


103 


In a \er y few minutes Mr. Swiveller was fast asleep, 
dreaming that he had married Nelly Trent and come 
into the property, and that his first act of power was to 
lay waste the market-garden of Mi. Cheggs and turn i 
into a brick-field. 


104 


THE OLD CUKIOSITT SHOP. 


CHAPTER IX. 

The child, in her confidence with Mrs. Quilp, had but 
feebly described the sadness and sorrow of her thoughts, 
or the heaviness of the cloud which overhung her home, 
and cast dark shadows on its hearth. Besides that it was 
very difficult to impart to any person not intimately ac- 
quainted with the life she led, an adequate sense of its 
gloom and loneliness, a constant fear of in some way 
committing or injuring the old man to whom she was so 
tenderly attached, had restrained her, even in the midst 
of her heart’s overflowing, and made her timid of allu- 
sion to the main cause of her anxiety and distress. 

For, it was not the monotonous days uncheckered by 
variety and uncheered by pleasant companionship, it was 
not the dark dreary evenings or the long solitary nights, 
it was not the absence of every slight and easy pleasure 
for which young hearts beat high, or the knowing nothing 
of childhood but its weakness and its easily wounded 
spirit, that had wrung such tears from Nell. To see the 
old man struck down beneath the pressure of some hid 
den grief, to mark his wavering and unsettled state, to be 
agitated at times with a dreadful fear that his mind was 
wandering, and to trace in his words and looks the dawn- 
ing of despondent madness; to watch and wait and listen 
for confirmation of these things day after day, and to feel 
and know that, come what might, they were alone in the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. lOh 

world with no one to help or advise or care about them 
— these were causes of depression and anxiety that 
might have sat heavily on an older breast with many 
influences at work to cheer and gladden it, but how 
heavily on the mind of a young child to whom they 
were ever present, and who was constantly surroundec 
by all that could keep such thoughts in restless action 

And yet, to the old man’s vision, Nell was still the 
same. When he could, for a moment, disengage his 
mind from the phantom that haunted and brooded on it 
always, there was his young companion with the same 
smile for him, the same earnest words, the same merry 
laugh, the same love and care that, sinking deep into his 
soul, seemed to have been present to him through his 
whole life. And so he went on, content to read the book 
of her heart from the page first presented to him, little 
dreaming of the story that lay hidden in its other leaves, 
and murmuring within himself that at least the child 
was happy. 

She had been once. She had gone singing through 
the dim rooms, and moving with gay and lightsome step 
among their dusty treasures, making them older by her 
young life, and sterner and more grim by her gay and 
cheerful presence. But, now, the chambers were cold 
and gloomy, and when she left her own little room to 
while away the tedious hours, and sat in one of them, 
he was still and motionless as their inanimate occupants 
nd had no heart to startle the echoes — hoarse fron 
heir long silence — with her voice. 

In one of these rooms, was a window looking into 
the street, where the child sat, many and many a long 
evening, and often far into the night, alone and thought- 
ful. None are so anxious as those who watch and wait 


106 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


at these times, mournful fancies came flocking on her 
mind, in crowds. 

She would take her station here, at dusk, and watch 
the people as they passed up and down the street, or 
appeared at the windows of the opposite houses ; won- 
lering whether those rooms were as lonesome as that 
in which she sat, and whether those people felt it com- 
pany to see her sitting there, as she did only to see 
them look out and draw in their heads again. There 
was a crooked stack of chimneys on one of the roofs, 
in which, by often looking at them, she had fancied 
ugly faces that were frowning over at her and trying 
to peer into the room ; and she felt glad when it grew 
too dark to make them out, though she was sorry too, 
when the man came to light the lamps in the street — 
for it made it late, and very dull inside. Then, she 
would draw in her head to look round the room and see 
that everything was in its place and hadn’t moved ; and 
looking out into the street again, would perhaps see a 
man passing with a coffin on his back, and two or three 
others silently following him to a house where somebody 
lay dead ; which made her shudder and think of such 
things until they suggested afresh the old man’s altered 
face and manner, and a new train of fears and specu- 
lations. If he were to die — if sudden illness had hap 
pened to him, and he w r ere never to come home again 
alive — if, one night, he should come home, and kiss and 
bless her as usual, and after she had gone to bed and 
had fallen asleep and was perhaps dreaming pleasantly 
and smiling in her sleep, he should kill himself and his 
blood come creeping, creeping, on the ground to her own 
bedroom door — These thoughts were too terrible to 
dwell upon, and again she would have recourse to the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


107 


street, now trodden by fewer feet, and darker and more si 
lent than before. The shops were closing fast, and lights 
began to shine from the upper windows, as the neigh- 
bors went to bed. By degrees, these dwindled away 
and disappeared, or were replaced, here and there, by 
a feeble rush-candle which was to burn all night. Still 
there was one late shop at no great distance which sent 
forth a ruddy glare upon the pavement even yet, and 
looked bright and companionable. But, in a little 
time> this closed, the light was extinguished, and all 
was gloomy and quiet, except when some stray foot- 
steps sounded on the pavement, or a neighbor, out later 
than his wont, knocked lustily at his house-door to rouse 
the sleeping inmates. 

When the night had worn away thus far (and seldom 
now until it had) the child would close the window, and 
steal softly down-stairs, thinking as she went that if one 
of those hideous faces below, which often mingled with 
her dreams, were to meet her by the way, rendering 
itself visible by some strange light of its own, how ter- 
rified she would be. But these fears vanished before 
a well-trimmed lamp and the familiar aspect of her 
own room. After praying fervently, and with many 
bursting tears, for the old man, and the restoration of 
his peace of mind and the happiness they had once en- 
joyed, she would lay her head upon the pillow and sob 
herself to sleep : often starting up again, before the 
daylight came, to listen for the bell, and respond to the 
imaginary summons which had roused her from her 
slumber. 

One night, the third after Nelly’s interview with 
Mrs. Quilp, the old man, who had been weak and ill 
all day, said he should not leave home. The child’s 


108 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


eyes sparkled at the intelligence, but her joy subsided 
when they reverted to his worn and sickly face. 

“ Two days,” he said, “two whole, clear, days have 
passed, and there is no reply. What did he tell thee, 
Nell ? ” 

“ Exactly what I told you, dear grandfather, indeed.” 

“ True,” said the old man, faintly. “ Yes. But tell 
me again, Nell. My head fails me. What was it that 
he told thee? Nothing more than that he would see 
me to-morrow or next day ? That was in the note.” 

“ Nothing more,” said the child. “ Shall I go to him 
again to-morrow, dear grandfather? Very early? I 
will be there and back, before breakfast.” 

The old man shook his head, and sighing mournfully, 
drew her towards him. 

“ ’Twould be of no use, my dear, no earthly use. 
But if he deserts me, Nell, at this moment — if he de- 
serts me now, when I should, with his assistance, be 
recompensed for all the time and money I have lost, 
and all the agony of mind I have undergone, which 
makes me what you see, I am ruined, and — worse, far 
worse than that — have ruined thee, for whom I ven- 
tured all. If we are beggars ! ” 

“ What if we are ? ” said the child boldly. “ Let 
us be beggars and be happy.” 

“Beggars — and happy!” said the old man. “Poor 
child ! ” 

“ Dear grandfather,” cried the girl with an energy 
which shone in her flushed face, trembling voice, and 
impassioned gesture, “ I am not a child in that I think, 
but even if I am, oh hear me pray that we may beg, 
or w r ork in open roads or fields, to earn a scanty liv- 
ng, rather than live as we do now.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


100 


“ Nelly ! ” said the old man. 

“ Yes, yes, rather than live as we do now,” the child 
repeated, more earnestly than before. “ If you are sor- 
rowful, let me know why and be sorrowful too ; if you 
waste away and are paler and weaker every day, le 
me be your nurse and try to comfort you. If you ar< 
poor, let us be poor together ; but let me be with you, 
do let me be with you ; do not let me see such change 
and not know why, or I shall break my heart and die. 
Dear grandfather, let us leave this sad place to-mor- 
row, and beg our way from door to door.” 

The old man covered his face with his hands, and 
hid it in the pillow of the couch on which he lay. 

“ Let us be beggars,” said the child passing an arm 
round his neck, “ I have no fear but we shall have 
enough, I am sure we shall. Let us walk through 
country places, and sleep in fields and under trees, and 
never think of money again, or anything that can make 
you sad, but rest at nights, and have the sun and wind 
upon our faces in the day, and thank God together ! 
Let us never set foot in dark rooms or melancholy 
houses, any more, but wander up and down wherever 
we like to go ; and when you are tired, you shall stop 
to rest in the pleasantest place that we can find, and I 
will go and beg for both.” 

The child’s voice was lost in sobs as she dropped 
upon the old man’s neck; nor did she weep alone. • 

These were not words for other ears, nor was it a 
scene for other eyes. And yet other ears and eyes 
were there and greedily taking in all that passed, and 
moreover they were the ears and eyes of no less a 
person than Mr. Daniel Quilp, who, haying entered 
unseen when the child first placed herself at the old 


110 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


man’s side, refrained — actuated, no doubt, by motives 
of the purest delicacy — from interrupting the conver- 
sation, and stood looking on with his accustomed grin. 
Standing, however, being a tiresome attitude to a gen- 
tleman already fatigued with walking, and the dwarf 
being one of that kind of persons who usually make 
themselves at home, he soon cast his eyes upon a chair, 
into which he skipped with uncommon agility, and 
perching himself on the back with his feet upon the 
seat, was thus enabled to look on and listen with greater 
comfort to himself, besides gratifying at the same time 
that taste for doing something fantastic and monkey- 
like, which on all occasions had strong possession of 
him. Here, then, he sat, one leg cocked carelessly 
over the other, his chin resting on the palm of his 
hand, his head turned a little on one side, and his ugly 
features twisted into a complacent grimace. And in 
this position the old man, happening in course of time 
to look that way, at length chanced to see him : to his 
unbounded astonishment. 

The child uttered a suppressed shriek on beholding 
this agreeable figure ; in their first surprise both she 
and the old man, not knowing what to say, and half 
doubting its reality, looked shrinkingly at it. Not at all 
disconcerted by this reception, Daniel Quilp preserved 
the same attitude, merely nodding twice or thrice with 
gfeat condescension. At length the old man pronounced 
his name, and inquired how he came there. 

u Through the door,” said Quilp pointing over his 
shoulder with his thumb. a I’m not quite small enough 
to get through key-holes. I wish I was. I want to 
have some talk with you, particularly, and in private — 
with nobody present, neighbor. Good-by, little Nelly.’ 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Ill 


Nell looked at the old man, who nodded to her to 
retire, and kissed her cheek. 

“ Ah ! ” said the dwarf, smacking his lips, “ what a 
nice kiss that was — just upon the rosy part. What a 
capital kiss ! ” 

Nell was none the slower in going away, for this re 
mark. Quilp looked after her with an admiring leer 
and when she had closed the door, fell to complimenting 
the old man upon her charms. 

“ Such a fresh, blooming, modest little bud, neighbor,” 
said Quilp, nursing his short leg, and making his eyes 
twinkle very much : “ such a chubby, rosy, cosey little 
Nell ! ” 

The old man answered by a forced smile, and was 
plainly struggling with a feeling of the keenest and most 
exquisite impatience. It was not lost upon Quilp, who 
delighted in torturing him, or indeed anybody else, when 
he could. 

u She’s so,” said Quilp, speaking very slowly, and 
feigning to be quite absorbed in the subject, “ so small, 
so compact, so beautifully modelled, so fair, with such 
blue veins, and such a transparent skin, and such little 
feet, and ^such winning ways — but bless me, you’re ner- 
vous ! Why neighbor, what’s the matter ? I swear to 
you,” continued the dwarf dismounting from the chair 
* and sitting down in it, with a careful slowness of gesture 
very different from the rapidity with which he had 
sprung up unheard, “ I swear to you that I had no 
idea old blood ran so fast or kept so warm. I thought it 
was sluggish in its course, and cool, quite cool. I am 
pretty sure it ought to be. Yours must be out of order, 
neighbor.” 

a I believe it is,” groaned the old man, clasping his 


112 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


head with both hands. “There’s burning fever here, 
and something now and then to which I fear to give a 
name.” 

The dwarf said never a w r ord, but watched his com- 
panion as he paced restlessly up and down the room, and 
presently returned to his seat. Here he remained, with 
his head bowed upon his breast for some time, and then 
suddenly raising it, said, 

“ Once, and once for all, have you brought me any 
money ? ” 

“ No ! ” returned Quilp. 

“ Then,” said the old man, clinching his hands desper- 
ately, and looking upward, “the child and I are lost ! ” 

“ Neighbor,” said Quilp glancing sternly at him, and 
beating his hand twice or thrice upon the table to attract 
his wandering attention, “ let me be plain with you, and 
play a fairer game than when you held all the cards, and 
I saw but the backs and nothing more. You have no 
secret from me, now.” 

The old man looked up, trembling. 

“ You are surprised,” said Quilp. “ Well, perhaps 
that’s natural. You have no secret from me now, I 
say ; no, not one. For now, I know, that all those sums 
of money, that all those loans, advances, and supplies 
that you have had from me, have found their way to — 
ghall I say the word ? ” 

“ Ay ! ” replied the old man, “ say it if you will.” 

“ To the gaming-table,” rejoined Quilp, “ your nightly 
haunt. This was the precious scheme to make your for- 
tune, was it ; this was the secret certain source of wealth 
in which I was to have sunk my money (if I had been 
the fool you took me for) ; this was your inexhaustible 
mine of gold, your El Dorado, eh ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


113 


“ Yes,” cried the old man, turning upon him with 
gleaming eyes, “ it was. It is. It will be, till I die.” 

“ That I should have been blinded,” said Quilp look- 
ng contemptuously at him, “ by a mere shallow gam 
3ler ! ” 

“ I am no gambler,” cried the old man fiercely. “ I 
•all Heaven to witness that I never played for gain of 
nine, or love of play; that at every piece I staked, I 
whispered to myself that orphan’s name and called on 
Heaven to bless the venture ; — which it never did. 
Whom did it prosper ? Who were those with whom I 
played ? Men who lived by plunder, profligacy, and 
riot ; squandering their gold in doing ill, and propagat- 
ing vice and evil. My winnings would have been from 
them, my winnings would have been bestowed to the last 
farthing on a young sinless child whose life they w r ould 
have sweetened and made happy. What would they 
have contracted ? The means of corruption, wretched- 
ness, and misery. Who would not have hoped in such 
a cause — tell me that ! Who would not have hoped 
as I did ? ” 

u When did you first begin this mad career ? ” asked 
Quilp, his taunting inclination subdued, for a moment, 
by the old man’s grief and wildness. 

“ When did I first begin ? ” he rejoined, passing his 
hand across his brow. “ When was it, that I first be- 
gan ? When should it be, but when I began to think 
how little I had saved, how long a time it took to save a 
nil, how short a time I might have at my age to live, and 
how she would be left to the rough mercies of the world, 
with barely enough to keep her from the sorrows that 
wait on poverty ; then it was, that I began to think 
*bout ih” 


VOL. I. 


8 


114 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ After you first came to me to get your precious 
grandson packed off to sea ? ” said Quilp. 

“ Shortly after that,” replied the old man. u I thought 
of it a long time, and had it in my sleep for months. 
Then I began. I found no pleasure in it, I expected 
none. What has it ever brought to me but anxious days 
and sleepless nights ; but loss of health and peace of 
mind, and gain of feebleness and sorrow ! ” 

44 You lost what money you had laid by, first, and then 
came to me. While I thought you were making your for* 
tune (as you said you were) you were making yourself a 
beggar, eh ? Dear me ! And so it comes to pass that I 
hold every security you could scrape together, and a bill 
of sale upon the — upon the stock and property,” said 
Quilp standing up and looking about him, as if to assure 
himself that none of it had been taken away. 44 But did 
you never win ? ” 

“ Never ! ” groaned the old man. “ Never won back 
my loss ! ” 

“ I thought,” sneered the dwarf, “ that if a man played 
long enough he was sure to win at last, or, at the worst, 
not to come off a loser.” 

“ And so he is,” cried the old man, suddenly rousing 
himself from his state of despondency, and lashed into 
the most violent excitement, 44 so he is ; I have felt that 
from the first, I have always known it, I’ve seen it, I 
lever felt it half so strongly as I feel it now. Quilp, I 
have dreamed, three nights, of winning the same large 
sum, I never could dream that dream before, though I 
have often tried. Do not desert me, now I have this 
chance. I have no resource but you, give me some help, 
let me try this one last hope.” 

The dwarf shrugged his shoulders and shook nis head. 


4 

J A** 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


115 


u See Quilp, good tender-hearted Quilp,” said the old 
man, drawing some scraps of paper from his pocket with 
a trembling hand, and clasping the dwarf’s arm, “ only 
6ee here. Look at these figures, the result of long cal- 
culation, and painful and hard experience. I must win 
I only want a little help once more, a few pounds, bu 
two score pounds, dear Quilp.” 

“ The last advance was seventy,” said the dwarf ; “ ana 
it went in one night.” 

“ I know it did,” answered the old man, “ but that was 
the very worst fortune of all, and the time had not come 
then. Quilp, consider, consider,” the old man cried, 
trembling so much the while, that the papers in his 
hand fluttered as if they were shaken by the wind, “ that 
orphan child ! If I were alone, I could die with glad- 
ness — perhaps even anticipate that doom which is dealt 
out so unequally : coming, as it does, on the proud and 
happy in their strength, and shunning the needy and 
afflicted, and all who court it in their despair — but what 
I have done, has been for her. Help me for her sake I 
implore you — not for mine, for hers ! ” 

“ I’m sorry I’ve got an appointment in the city,” said 
Quilp, looking at his watch with perfect self-possession, 
“ or I should have been very glad to have spent half 
an hour with you while you composed yourself — very 
glad.” 

“ Nay, Quilp, good Quilp,” gasped the old man, catch- 
ing at his skirts — “ you and I have talked together 
more than once, of her poor mother’s story. The fear 
of her coming to poverty has perhaps been bred in me 
by that. Do not be hard upon me, but take that into 
account. You are a great gainer by me. Oh spare me 
die money for this one last hope ! ” 


116 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ I couldn’t do it really,” said Quilp with unusual po* 
liteness, “ though I tell you what — and this is a circum- 
stance worth bearing in mind as showing how the sharp- 
est among us may be taken in sometimes — I was so 
deceived by the penurious way in which you lived, alone 
with Nelly ” — 

“ All done to save money for tempting fortune, and to 
make her triumph greater,” cried the old man. 

“ Yes yes, I understand that now,” said Quilp : “ but 
I was going to say, I was so deceived by that, your mi 
serly way, the reputation you had among those who knew 
you of being rich, and your repeated assurances that 
you would make of my advances treble and quadruple 
the interest you paid me, that I’d have advanced you, 
even now, what you want, on your simple note of hand, 
if I hadn’t unexpectedly become acquainted with your 
secret way of life.” 

“ Who is it,” retorted the old man desperately, “ that, 
notwithstanding all my caution, told you. Come. Let 
me know the name — the person.” 

The crafty dwarf, bethinking himself that his giving 
up the child would lead to the disclosure of the artifice 
he had employed, which, as nothing was to be gained by 
it, it was well to conceal, stopped short in his answer and 
said, “ Now, who do you think ? ” 

“ It was Kit, it must have been the boy ; he played the 
spy, and you tampered with him ? ” said the old man. 

“ How came you to think of him ? ” said the dwarf in 
a tone of great commiseration. “ Yes it was Kit. Poor 
Kit!” 

So saying, he nodded in a friendly manner, and took 
his leave ; stopping when he had passed the outer door a 
little distance, and grinning with extraordinary delight. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


117 


“Poor Kit!” muttered Quilp. “I think it was Kit 
who said I was an uglier dwarf than could be seen any- 
where for a penny, wasn’t it. Ha, ha, ha ! Poor Kit ! ” 
And with that he went his way, still chuckling as he 

went. 


US 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER X. 

Daniel Quilp neither entered nor left the old man’s 
house, unobserved. In the shadow of an archway nearly 
opposite, leading to one of the many passages which 
diverged from the main street, there lingered one, who, 
having taken up his position when the twilight first came 
on, still maintained it with undiminished patience, and 
leaning against the wall with the manner of a person 
who had a long time to wait, and being well used to it 
was quite resigned, scarcely changed his attitude for the 
hour together. 

This patient lounger attracted little attention from any 
of those who passed, and bestowed as little upon them. 
His eyes were constantly directed towards one object ; 
the window at which the child was accustomed to sit. If 
he withdrew them for a moment, it was only to glance at 
a clock in some neighboring shop, and then to strain his 
sight once more in the old quarter with increased ear- 
nestness and attention. 

It has been remarked that this personage evinced no 
weariness in his place of concealment ; nor did he, long 
as his waiting was. But as the time went on, he mani- 
fested some anxiety and surprise, glancing at the clock 
more frequently and at the window less hopefully than 
before. At length, the clock was hidden from his sight 
by some envious shutters, then the church-steeples pro- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


119 


claimed eleven at night, then the quarter past, and then 
the conviction seemed to obtrude itself on his mind that 
it was of no use tarrying there any longer. 

That the conviction was an unwelcome one, and that 
he was by no means willing to yield to it, was apparent 
from his reluctance to quit the spot ; from the tardy 
steps with which he often left it, still looking over his 
shoulder at the same window ; and from the precipitatiou 
with which he as often returned, when a fancied noise or 
the changing and imperfect light induced him to suppose 
it had been softly raised. At length, he gave the matter 
up, as hopeless for that night, and suddenly breaking into 
a run as though to force himself away, scampered off at 
his utmost speed, nor once ventured to look behind him, 
lest he should be tempted back again. 

Without relaxing his pace, or stopping to take breath, 
this mysterious individual dashed on through a great 
many alleys and narrow ways until he at length arrived 
in a square paved court, when he subsided into a wmlk, 
and making for a small house from the window of which 
a light was shining, lifted the latch of the door and 
passed in. 

“ Bless us ! ” cried a woman turning sharply round, 
“ who’s that ? Oh ! It’s you, Kit ! ” 

“Yes, mother, it’s me.” 

“ Why, how tired you look, my dear ! ” 

“ Old master a’n’t gone out to-night,” said Kit ; “ and 
so she hasn’t been at the window at all.” With which 
words, he sat down by the fire, and looked very mourn- 
ful and discontented. 

The room in which Kit sat himself down, in this con- 
dition, was an extremely poor and homely place, but 
with that air of comfort about it, nevertheless, which — 


120 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


or the spot must be a wretched one indeed — cleanliness 
and order can always impart in some degree. Late as 
the Dutch clock showed it to be, the poor woman was 
still hard at work at an ironing-table ; a young child la) 
sleeping in a cradle near the fire ; and another, a sturd) 
boy of two or three years old, very wide awake, with 
very tight nightcap on his head, and a night-gown ver) 
much too small for him on his body, was sitting bolt up- 
right in a clothes-basket, staring over the rim with his 
great round eyes, and looking as if he had thoroughly 
made up his mind never to go to sleep any more ; which, 
as he had already declined to take his natural rest, and 
had been brought out of bed in consequence, opened a 
cheerful prospect for his relations and friends. It was 
rather a queer-looking family : Kit, his mother, and the 
children, being all strongly alike. 

Kit was disposed to be out of temper, as the best of us 
are too often — but he looked at the youngest child who 
was sleeping soundly, and from him to his other brother 
in the clothes-basket, and from him to their mother, who 
had been at work without complaint since morning, and 
thought it would be a better and kinder thing to be good- 
humored. So he rocked the cradle with his foot ; made 
a face at the rebel in the clothes-basket, which put him 
in high good-humor directly ; and stoutly determined to 
be talkative and make himself agreeable. 

“All mother ! ” said Kit, taking out his claspknife 
and falling upon a great piece of bread and meat which 
she had had ready for him, hours before, u what a one 
you are ! There a’n’t many such as you, I know.” 

“ I hope there are many a great deal better, Kit,” said 
Mrs. Nubbles ; “ and that there are, or ought to be, ac- 
cordin’ to what the parson at chapel says.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


121 


“ Much he knows about it,” returned Kit contemptu- 
ously. “ Wait till he’s a widder and works like you do, 
and get’s as little, and does as much, and keeps his spirits 
up the same, and then I’ll ask him what’s o’clock and 
I rust him for being right to half a second.” 

“Well,” said Mrs. Nubbles, evading the point, “youi 
beer’s down there by the fender, Kit.” 

“ I see,” replied her son, taking up the porter pot, “ my 
love to you, mother. And the parson’s health too if you 
like. I don’t bear him any malice, not I ! ” 

“ Did you tell me, just now, that your master hadn't 
gone out to-night ? ” inquired Mrs. Nubbles. 

“ Yes,” said Kit, “ worse luck.” 

“You should say better luck, I think,” returned his 
mother, “ because Miss Nelly won’t have been left 
alone.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Kit, “ I forgot that. I said worse luck, 
because I’ve been watching ever since eight o’clock, and 
seen nothing of her.” 

“ I wonder what she’d say,” cried his mother, stopping 
in her work, and looking round, “ if she knew that every 
night when she — poor thing — is sitting alone at that 
window, you are watching in the open street for fear any 
harm should come to her, and that you never leave the 
place or come home to your bed though you’re ever so 
tired, till such time as you think she’s safe in hers.” 

“ Never mind what she’d say,” replied Kit, with some- 
hing like a blush on his uncouth face ; “ she’ll never 
know nothing, and consequently, she’ll never say noth- 
mg.” 

Mrs. Nubbles ironed away in silence for a minute or 
two, and coming to the fireplace for another iron, glanced 
stealthily at Kit while she rubbed it on a board and 


f2 2 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


dusted it with a duster, but said nothing until she had 
returned to her table again : when, holding the iron at 
an alarming short distance from her cheek, to test its 
temperature, and looking round with a smile, she ob 
served : 

“ I know what some people would say, Kit ” — 

“ Nonsense,” interposed Kit with a perfect apprehen 
sion of what was to follow. 

u No, but they would indeed. Some people would 
say that you’d fallen in love with her, I know they 
would.” 

To this, Kit only replied by bashfully bidding his 
mother “get out,” and forming sundry strange figures 
with his legs and arms, accompanied by sympathetic 
contortions of his face. Not deriving from these means 
the relief which he sought, he bit off an immense mouth- 
ful from the bread and meat, and took a quick drink of 
the porter ; by which artificial aids he choked himself 
and effected a diversion of the subject. 

“ Speaking seriously though, Kit,” said his mother 
taking up the theme afresh after a time, “ for of course 
I was only in joke just now, it’s very good and thought- 
ful, and like you, to do this, and never let anybody know 
it, though some day I hope she may come to know it, 
for I’m sure she would be very grateful to you and feel 
it very much. It’s a cruel thing to keep the dear child 
shut up there. I don’t wonder that the old gentleman 
wants to keep it from you.” 

u He don’t think it’s cruel, bless you,” said Kit, “ and 
don’t mean it to be so, or he wouldn’t do it — I do con- 
sider, mother, that he wouldn’t do is for all the gold and 
silver in the world. No, no, that he wouldn’t. I know 
him better than that.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


123 


u Then what does he do it for, and why does he keep 
it so close from you ? ” said Mrs. Nubbles. 

“ That I don’t know,” returned her son. “ If he hadn’t 
tried to keep it so close though, I should never have 
found it out' for it was his getting me away at night and 
sending me off so much earlier than he used to, that firs 
made me curious to know what was going on. Hark 
what’s that ? ” 

66 It’s only somebody outside.” 

“ It’s somebody crossing over here,” said Kit, standing 
up to listen, “ and coming very fast, too. He can’t have 
gone out after I left, and the house caught fire, mother!” 

The boy stood, for a moment, really bereft, by the ap- 
prehension he had conjured up, of the power to move. 
The footsteps drew nearer, the door was opened with a 
hasty hand, and the child herself, pale and breathless, 
and hastily wrapped in a few disordered garments, hur- 
ried into the room. 

“ Miss Nelly ! What is the matter ! ” cried mother 
and son together. 

“ I must not stay a moment,” she returned, “ grand- 
father has been taken very ill. I found him in a fit 
upon the floor ” — 

“ I’ll run for a doctor ” — said Kit, seizing his brim- 
less hat. “ I’ll be there directly, I’ll ” — 

“ No, no,” cried Nell, “ there is one there, you’re no 
wanted, you — you — must never come near us ail) 
more ! ” r 

“ What ! ” roared Kit. 

“ Never again,” said the child. “ Don’t ask me why 
for I don’t know. Pray don’t ask me why, pray don’t 
be sorry, pray don’t be vexed with me ! I have nothing 
to do with it indeed ! ” 


124 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Kit looked at her with his eyes stretched wide ; and 
opened and shut his mouth a great many times; but 
couldn’t get out one word. 

“ He complains and raves of you,” said the child, “ I 
don’t know what you have done, but I hope it’s nothin* 
very bad.” 

“ I done ? ” roared Kit. 

“He cries that you’re the cause of all his misery,” 
returned the child with tearful eyes ; “ he screamed and 
called for you ; they say you must not come near him or 
he will die. You must not return to us any more. I 
came to tell you. I thought it would be better that I 
should come than somebody quite strange. Oh, Kit, 
tvhat have you done? you, in whom I trusted so much, 
and who were almost the only friend I had ! ” 

The unfortunate Kit looked at his young mistress 
harder and harder, and with eyes growing wider and 
wider, but was perfectly motionless and silent. 

“ I have brought his money for the week,” said the 
child, looking to the woman and laying it on the table 
— “and — and — a little more, for he was always good 
and kind to me. I hope he will be sorry and do 
well somewhere else and not take this to heart too 
much. It grieves me very much to part with him like 
this, but there is no help. It must be done. Good- 
night!” 

With the tears streaming down her face, and he. 
slight figure trembling with the agitation, of the seen. 
6he had left, the shock she had received, the errand she 
had just discharged, and a thousand painful and affec- 
tionate feelings, the child hastened to the door, and dis- 
appeared as rapidly as she had come. 

The poor woman, who had no cause to doubt her 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. J 2 ) 

son, but every reason for relying on his honesty and 
truth, was staggered, notwithstanding, by his not hav- 
ing advanced one word in his defence. Visions of gal- 
lantry, knavery, robbery ; and of the nightly absences 
from home for which he had accounted so strangely, 
having been occasioned by some unlawful pursuit; 
flocked into her brain and rendered her afraid to ques 
tion him. She rocked herself upon a chair, wringing 
her hands and weeping bitterly, but Kit made no at- 
tempt to comfort her, and remained quite bewildered. 
The baby in the cradle woke up and cried ; the boy 
in the clothes-basket fell over on his back with the 
basket upon him, and was seen no more ; the mother 
wept louder yet and rocked faster ; but Kit, insensible 
to all the din and tumult, remained in a state of utter 
stupefaction. 


126 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XI. 

Quiet and solitude were destined to hold uninter- 
rupted rule no longer, beneath the roof that sheltered 
the child. Next morning, the old man was in a raging 
fever accompanied with delirium ; and sinking undei 
the influence of this disorder, he lay for many weeks 
in imminent peril of his life. There was watching 
enough, now, but it was the watching of strangers who 
made a greedy trade of it, and who, in the intervals 
of their attendance upon the sick man, huddled together 
with a ghastly good-fellowship, and ate and drunk and 
made merry ; for disease and death were their ordinary 
household gods. 

Yet, in all the hurry and crowding of such a time, 
the child was more alone than she had ever been be- 
fore ; alone in spirit, alone in her devotion to him who 
was wasting away upon his burning bed ; alone in her 
unfeigned sorrow, and her unpurchased sympathy. Day 
after day, and night after night, found her still by the 
pillow of the unconscious sufferer, still anticipating his 
every want, still listening to those repetitions of her 
name and those anxieties and cares for her, which were 
ever uppermost among his feverish wandering?. 

The house was no longer theirs. Even the sick 
chamber seemed to be retained, on the uncertain tenure 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


127 


of Mr. Quilp’s favor. The old man’s illness had not 
lasted many days when he took formal possession of 
the premises, and all upon them, in virtue of certain 
legal powers to that effect, which few understood and 
none presumed to call in question. This important 
step secured, with the assistance of a man of law whom 
he brought with him for the purpose, the dwarf pro- 
ceeded to establish himself and his coadjutor in the 
house, as an assertion of his claim against all comers, 
and then set about making his «. quarters comfortable, 
after his own fashion. 

To this end, Mr. Quilp encamped in the back-parlor, 
having first put an effectual stop to any further busi- 
ness by shutting up the shop. Having looked out, from 
among the old furniture, the handsomest and most com- 
modious chair he could possibly find (which he reserved 
for his own use), and an especially hideous and uncom- 
fortable one (which he considerately appropriated to the 
accommodation of his friend), he caused them to be car- 
ried into this room, and took up his position in great 
state. The apartment was very far removed from the 
old man’s chamber, but Mr. Quilp deemed it prudent, 
as a precaution against infection from fever, and a 
means of wholesome fumigation, not only to smoke 
himself, without cessation, but to insist upon it that his 
legal friend did the like. Moreover, he sent an ex- 
press to the wharf for the tumbling boy, who, arriving 
with all despatch, was enjoined to sit himself in an- 
other chair just inside the door, continually to smoke a 
great pipe which the dwarf had provided for the pur- 
pose, and to take it from his lips under any pretence 
whatever, were it only for one minute at a time, if 
he dared. These arrangements completed, Mr. Quilp 


128 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


looked round him with chuckling satisfaction, and re- 
marked that he called that comfort. 

The legal gentleman, whose melodious name was 
Brass, might have called it comfort also but for two 
drawbacks ; one was, that he could by no exertion sit 
easy in his chair, the seat of which was very hard, angu- 
lar, slippery, and sloping ; the other, that tobacco-smoke 
always caused him great internal discomposure and an- 
noyance. But as he was quite a creature of Mr. Quilp’s, 
and had a thousand reasons for conciliating his good opin- 
ion, he tried to smile, and nodded his acquiescence with 
the best grace he could assume. 

This Brass was an attorney of no very good repute, 
from Bevis Marks in the city of London ; he was a tall, 
meagre man, with a nose like a wen, a protruding fore- 
head, retreating eyes, and hair of a deep red. He wore 
a long black surtout reaching nearly to his ankles, short 
black trousers, high shoes, and cotton stockings of a blu- 
ish gray. He had a cringing manner, but a very harsh 
voice ; and his blandest smiles were so extremely forbid- 
ding, that to have had his company under the least re- 
pulsive circumstances, one would have wished him to be 
out of temper that he might only scowl. 

Quilp looked at his legal adviser, and seeing that he 
was winking very much in the anguish of his pipe, that 
he sometimes shuddered when he happened to inhale its 
full flavor, and that he constantly fanned the smoke from 
him, was quite overjoyed and rubbed his hands with 
glee. 

“Smoke away, you dog,” said Quilp, turning to the 
boy ; “ fill your pipe again and smoke it fast, down to 
the last whiff, or I’ll put the sealing-waxed end of it in 
the fire and rub it red-hot upon your tongue. ’ 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


129 


Luckily the boy was case-hardened, and would have 
smoked a small lime-kiln if anybody had treated him 
with it. Wherefore, he only muttered a brief defiance 
of his master, and did as he was ordered. 

“ Is it good, Brass, is it nice, is it fragrant, do you feel 
like the Grand Turk ? ” said Quilp. 

Mr. Brass thought that if he did, the Grand Turk’s 
feelings were by no means to be envied, but he said it 
was famous, and he had no doubt he felt very like that 
Potentate. 

“ This is the way to keep off fever,” said Quilp, “ this 
is the way to keep off every calamity of life ! We’ll 
never leave off, all the time we stop here — smoke away, 
you dog, or you shall swallow the pipe ! ” 

“ Shall we stop here long, Mr. Quilp ? ” inquired his 
legal friend, when the dwarf had given his boy this gen- 
tle admonition. 

“We must stop, I suppose, till the old gentleman up- 
stairs is dead,” returned Quilp. 

“ He, he, he ! ” laughed Brass, “ oh ! very good ! ” 

“ Smoke away ! ” cried Quilp. “ Never stop ! you 
can talk as you smoke. Don’t lose time.” 

“ He, he, he ! ” cried Brass faintly, as he again applied 
himself to the odious pipe. “ But if he should get bet- 
ter, Mr. Quilp ? ” 

“ Then we shall stop till he does, and no longer,” re- 
turned the dwarf. 

“ How kind it is of you, sir, to wait till then ! ” said 
Brass. “ Some people, sir, would have sold or removed 
the goods — oh dear, the very instant the law allowed 
em. Some people, sir, would have been all flintiness 
and granite. Some people, sir, would have ” — 

“ Some people would have spared themselves the 

VOL. I. 9 


130 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


jabbering of such a parrot as you,” interposed the 
dwarf. 

“ He, he, he ! ” cried Brass. “ You have such spirits ! ” 
The smoking sentinel at the door interposed in this 
place, and without taking his pipe from his lips, growled, 
“ Here’s the gal a-comin’ down.” 

66 The what, you dog ? ” said Quilp. 
u The gal,” returned the boy. “ Are you deaf ? ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Quilp, drawing in his breath with great 
relish as if he were taking soup, “ you and I will have 
such a settling presently ; there’s such a scratching and 
bruising in store for you, my dear young friend ! Aha ! 
Nelly ! How is he now, my duck of diamonds ?” 

“ He’s very bad,” replied the weeping child. 

“ What a pretty little Nell ! ” cried Quilp. 
u Oh beautiful, sir, beautiful indeed,” said Brass. 
“ Quite charming ! ” 

“ Has she come to sit upon Quilp’s knee,” said the 
dwarf, in what he meant to be a soothing tone, “ or is 
she going to bed in her own little room inside here — 
which is poor Nelly going to do ? ” 

u What a remarkable pleasant way he has with chil- 
dren !” muttered Brass, as if in confidence between him- 
self and the ceiling ; “ upon my word it’s quite a treat 
to hear him.” 

“ I’m not going to stay at all,” faltered Nell. “ I want 
a few things out of that room, and then I — I — won’t 
come down here any more.” 

“ And a very nice little room it is ! ” said the dwarf, 
looking into it as the child entered. “ Quite a bower ! 
You’re sure you’re not going to use it ; you’re sure 
you’re not coming back, Nelly ? ” 

“ No,” replied the child, hurrying away, with the few 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


131 


articles cf dress she had come to remove ; “ never again 1 
Never again.” 

“ She’s very sensitive,” said Quilp, looking after her. 
“ Very sensitive ; that’s a pity. The bedstead is much 
about my size. I think I shall make it my little room.” 

Mr. Brass encouraging this idea, as he would have 
encouraged any other emanating from the same source, 
the dwarf walked in to try the effect. This he did, by 
throwing himself on his back upon the bed with his pipe 
in his mouth, and then kicking up his legs and smoking 
violently. Mr. Brass applauding this picture very much, 
and the bed being soft and comfortable, Mr. Quilp deter- 
mined to use it, both as a sleeping-place by night and as 
a kind of Divan by day ; and in order that it might be 
converted to the latter purpose at once, remained where 
he was, and smoked his pipe out. The legal gentleman 
being by this time rather giddy and perplexed in his 
ideas (for this was one of the operations of the tobacco 
on his nervous system), took the opportunity of slinking 
away into the open air, where, in course of time, he re- 
covered sufficiently to return with a countenance of tol- 
erable composure. He was soon led on by the malicious 
dwarf to smoke himself into a relapse, and in that state 
stumbled upon a settee, where he slept till morning. 

Such were Mr. Quilp’s first proceedings on entering 
upon his new property. He was, for some days, re- 
strained by business from performing any particular 
pranks, as his time was pretty well occupied between 
taking, with the assistance of Mr. Brass, a minute inven- 
tory of all the goods in the place, and going abroad upon 
his other concerns, which happily engaged him for sev 
eral hours at a time. His avarice and caution being now 
thoroughly awakened, however, he was never absent from 


132 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the house one night ; and his eagerness for some termi- 
nation, good or bad, to the old man’s disorder, increasing 
rapidly, as the time passed by, soon began to vent itself 
in open murmurs and exclamations of impatience. 

Nell shrunk timidly from all the dwarf’s advances 
towards conversation, and fled from the very sound of 
his voice ; nor were the lawyer’s smiles less terrible to 
her than Quilp’s grimaces. She lived in such continual 
dread and apprehension of meeting one or other of them 
on the stairs or in the passages if she stirred from her 
grandfather’s chamber, that she seldom left it, for a mo- 
ment, until late at night, when the silence encouraged her 
to venture forth and breathe the purer air of some empty 
room. 

One night, she had stolen to her usual window, and 
was sitting there very sorrowfully — for the old man had 
been worse that day — when she thought she heard her 
name pronounced by a voice in the street. Looking 
down, she recognized Kit, whose endeavors to attract 
her attention had roused her from her sad reflections. 
u Miss Nell ! ” said the boy in a low voice. 

“ Yes,” replied the child, doubtful whether she ought 
to hold any communication with the supposed culprit, but 
inclining to her old favorite still ; “ what do you want ? ” 
“ I have wanted to say a word to you for a long time,” 
the boy replied, “ but the people below have driven me 
away and wouldn’t let me see you. You don’t believe 
— I hope you don’t really believe — that I deserve to 
be cast off as I have been ; do you, miss ? ” 

“ I must believe it,” returned the child. “ Or why 
would grandfather have been so angry with you ? ” 
u I don’t know,” replied Kit. u I’m sure I’ve never 
deserved it from him, no, nor from you. I can say that, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


133 


with a true and honest heart, any way. And then to be 
driven from the door, when I only came to ask how old 
master was ! ” — 

“ They never told me that,” said the child. “ I didn’t 
know it indeed. I wouldn’t have had them do it for the 
world.” 

“ Thank ’ee, Miss,” returned Kit, “ it’s comfortable to 
hear you say that. I said I never would believe that it 
was your doing.” 

“ That was right ! ” said the child eagerly. 

“ Miss Nell,” cried the boy, coming under the window, 
and speaking in a lower tone, “ there are new masters 
down-stairs. It’s a change for you.” 

“ It is indeed,” replied the child. 

“ And so it will be for him when he gets better,” said 
the boy, pointing towards the sick room. 

— “ If he ever does,” added the child, unable to re- 
strain her tears. 

“Oh, he’ll do that, he’ll do that,” said Kit, “I’m sure 
he will. You mustn’t be cast down, Miss Nell. Now, 
don’t be, pray ! ” 

These words of encouragement and consolation were 
few and roughly said, but they affected the child and 
made her, for the moment, weep the more. 

“ He’ll be sure to get better now,” said the boy anx- 
iously, “ if you don’t give way to low spirits and turn ill 
yourself, which would make him worse and throw him 
back, just as he was recovering. When he does, say a 
good word — say a kind word for me, Miss Nell ! ” 

“ They tell me I must not even mention your name to 
him for a long, long time,” rejoined the child, “ I dare 
not ; and even if I might, what good would a kind word 
do you, Kit ? We shall be very poor. We shall scarcely 
have bread to eat.” 


134 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“It’s not that I may be taken back,” said the boy* 
fc ‘ that I ask the favor of you. It isn't for the sake of 
food and wages that I’ve been waiting about, so long, 
in hopes to see you. Don’t think that I’d come in a 
time of trouble to talk of such things as them.” 

The child looked gratefully and kindly at him, but 
waited that he might speak again. 

4< No, it’s not that,” said Kit hesitating, “ it’s something 
very different from that. I haven’t got much sense I 
know, but if he could be brought to believe that I’d been 
a faithful servant to him, doing the best I could, and 
never meaning harm, perhaps he mightn’t ” — 

Here Kit faltered so long that the child entreated him 
to speak out, and quickly, for it was very late, and time 
to shut the window. 

“ Perhaps he mightn’t think it over venturesome of 
me to say — well then, to say this,” — cried Kit with 
sudden boldness. “ This home is gone from you and 
him. Mother and I have got a poor one, but that’s 
better than this with all these people here ; and why 
not come there, till he’s had time to look about, and 
find a better ! ” 

The child did not speak. Kit, in the relief of having 
made his proposition, found his tongue loosened, and 
spoke out in its favor with his utmost eloquence. 

“ You think,” said the boy, “ that it’s very small and 
inconvenient. So it is, but it’s very clean. Perhaps 
you think it would be noisy, but there’s not a quieter 
court than ours in all the town. Don’t be afraid of the 
children ; the baby hardly ever cries, and the other one 
is very good — besides, /’d mind ’em. They wouldn’t 
vex you much, I’m sure. Do try, Miss Nell, do try. 
The little front room up-stairs is very pleasant. You 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


135 


can see a piece of the church-clock, through the chim- 
neys, and almost tell the time ; mother says it would be 
just the thing for you, and so it would, and you’d have 
hei to wait upon you both, and me to run of errands. 
We don’t mean money, bless you ; you’re not to think 
of that ! Will you try him, Miss Nell ? Only say 
you’ll try him. Do try to make old master come, and 
ask him first what I have done — will you only promise 
that, Miss Nell?” 

Before the child could reply to this earnest solicita- 
tion, the street-door opened, and Mr. Brass thrusting out 
his nightcapped head called in a surly voice, u Who’s 
there ! ” Kit immediately glided away, and Nell, clos- 
ing the window softly, drew back into the room. 

Before Mr. Brass had repeated his inquiry many 
times, Mr. Quilp, also embellished with a nightcap, 
emerged from the same door and looked carefully up 
and down the street, and up at all the windows of the 
house, from the opposite side. ^Finding that there was 
nobody in sight, he presently returned into the house 
with his legal friend, protesting (as the child heard from 
the staircase), that there was a league and plot against 
him ; that he was in danger of being robbed and plundered 
by a band of conspirators who prowled about the house at 
all seasons ; and that he would delay no longer, but take 
immediate steps for disposing of the property and return- 
ing to his own peaceful roof. Having growled forth these, 
and a great many other threats of the same nature, he 
coiled himself once more in the child’s little bed, and 
Nell crept softly up the stairs. 

It was natural enough that her short and unfinished 
dialogue with Kit should leave a strong impression on 
her mind, and influence her dreams that night and her 


136 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


recollections for a long, long time. Surrounded by un- 
feeling creditors, and mercenary attendants upon the 
sick, and meeting in the height of her anxiety and sor- 
row with little regard or sympathy even from the women 
about her, it is not surprising that the affectionate heart 
of the child should have been touched to the quick by 
one kind and generous spirit, however uncouth the tem- 
ple in which it dwelt. Thank Heaven that the temples 
of such spirits are not made with hands, and that they 
may be even more worthily hung with poor patchwork 
than with purple and fine linen ! 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


137 


CHAPTER XII. 

At length, the crisis of the old man’s disorder was 
past, and he began to mend. By very slow and feeble 
degrees his consciousness came back ; but the mind was 
weakened and its functions were impaired. He was pa- 
tient and quiet ; often sat brooding, but not despondently, 
for a long space ; was easily amused, even by a sunbeam 
on the wall or ceiling ; made no complaint that the days 
were long, or the nights tedious; and appeared indeed 
to have lost all count of time, and every sense of care 
or weariness. He would sit, for hours together, with 
Nell’s small hand in his, playing with the fingers and 
stopping sometimes to smooth her hair or kiss her brow ; 
and, when he saw that tears were glistening in her eyes, 
would look, amazed, about him for the cause, and forget 
his wonder even while he looked. 

The child and he rode out : the old man propped up 
with pillows, and the child beside him. They were hand 
in hand as usual. The noise and motion in the streets 
fatigued his brain at first, but he was not surprised, or 
curious, or pleased, or irritated. He was asked if he re- 
membered this or that, “ O yes,” he said, “ quite well — 
why not ? ” Sometimes he turned his head, and looked, 
with earnest gaze and outstretched neck, after some stran- 
ger in the crowd, until he disappeared from sight ; but, tc 
the question why he did this, he answered not a word. 


138 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


He was sitting in his easy-chair one day, and Nell 
upon a stool beside him, when a man outside the door, 
inquired if he might enter. “ Yes,” he said without 
emotion, “ it was Quilp, he knew. Quilp was master 
there. Of course he might come in.” And so he 
did. 

“ I’m glad to see you well again at last, neighbor/* 
said the dwarf sitting down opposite to him. “ You’re 
quite strong now ? ” 

“ Yes,” said the old man feebly, “ yes.” 

“ I don’t want to hurry you, you know, neighbor,” 
said the dwarf raising his voice, for the old man’s senses 
were duller than they had been ; “ but, as soon as you 
can arrange your future proceedings, the better.” 

“ Surely,” said the old man. “ The better for all 
parties.” 

“ You see,” pursued Quilp after a short pause, “ the 
goods being once removed, this house would be uncom- 
fortable ; uninhabitable in fact.” 

“ You say true,” returned the old man. “ Poor Nell 
too, what would she do ? ” 

“ Exactly,” bawled the dwarf, nodding his head ; 
“that’s very well observed. Then will you consider 
about it, neighbor ? ” 

“I will, certainly,” replied the old man. “We shall 
not stop here.” 

“ So I supposed,” said the dwarf. “ I have sold the 
things. They have not yielded quite as much as they 
might have done, but pretty well — pretty well. To 
day’s Tuesday. When shall they be moved ? There’s 
no hurry — shall we say this afternoon ? ” 

“ Say Friday morning,” returned the old man. 

“ Very good,” said the dwarf. “ So be it, — with the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


139 


nndcrstanding that I can’t go beyond that day, neighbor, 
on any account.” 

“ Good,” returned the old man. “ I shall remember 
it-” 

Mr. Quilp seemed rather puzzled by the strange, 
even, spiritless way in which all this was said ; but as 
the old man nodded his head and repeated “ on F ri- 
day morning. I shall remember it,” he had no excuse 
for dwelling on the subject any further, and so took a 
friendly leave with many expressions of good-will and 
many compliments to his friend on his looking so re- 
markably well ; and went below-stairs to report progress 
to Mr. Brass. 

All that day, and all the next, the old man remained 
in this state. He wandered up and down the house 
and into and out of the various rooms, as if with some 
vague intent of bidding them adieu, but he referred 
neither by direct allusions nor in any other manner to 
the interview of the morning or the necessity of find- 
ing some other shelter. An indistinct idea he had, 
that the child was desolate and in want of help ; for 
he often drew her to his bosom and bade her be of 
good cheer, saying that they would not desert each 
other; but he seemed unable to contemplate their real 
position more distinctly, and was still the listless, pas- 
sionless creature, that suffering of mind and body had 
left him. 

We call this a state of childishness, but it is the 
same poor hollow mockery of it, that death is of sleep. 
Where, in the dull eyes of doating men, are the laugh- 
ing light and life of childhood, the gayety that has known 
no check, the frankness that has felt no chill, the hope 
that has never withered, the joys that fade in blossom- 


140 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ing? Where, in the sharp lineaments of rigid and 
unsightly death, is the calm beauty of slumber, telling 
of rest for the waking hours that are past, and gentle 
hopes and loves for those which are to come ? Lay 
death and sleep down, side by side, and say who shall 
find the two akin. Send forth the child and childish 
man together, and blush for the pride that libels our 
own old happy state, and gives its title to an ugly and 
distorted image. 

Thursday arrived, and there was no alteration in the 
old man. But, a change came upon him that evening, 
as he and the child sat silently together. 

In a small dull yard below his window, there was a 
tree — green and flourishing enough, for such a place 
— and as the air stirred among its leaves, it threw a 
rippling shadow on the white wall. The old man sat 
watching the shadows as they trembled in this patch 
of light, until the sun went down ; and when it was 
night, and the moon was slowly rising, he still sat in 
the same spot. 

To one who had been tossing on a restless bed so 
long, even these few green leaves and this tranquil light, 
although it languished among chimneys and house-tops, 
were pleasant things. They suggested quiet places afar 
off, and rest, and peace. 

The child thought, more than once that he was 
moved : and had forborne to speak. But, now, he 
shed tears — tears that it lightened her aching heart 
to see — and making as though he would fall upon his 
knees, besought her to forgive him. 

“Forgive you — what?” said Nell, interposing to 
prevent his purpose. “ Oh grandfather, what should I 
p orgive ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


141 


“ All that is past, all that has come upon thee, Nell, 
all that was done in that uneasy dream,” returned the 
old man. 

“Do not talk so,” said the child. “ Pray do not 
Let us speak of something else.” 

“ Yes, yes, w r e will,” he rejoined. “ And it shall 
be of what we talked of long ago — many months — • 
months is it, or weeks, or days ? which is it, Nell ? ” 

“ I do not understand you,” said the child. 

“ It has come back upon me to-day, it has all come 
back since we have been sitting here. I bless thee 
for it, Nell!” 

“For what, dear grandfather?” 

“ For what you said when we were first made beg- 
gars, Nell. Let us speak softly. Hush ! for if they 
knew our purpose down-stairs, they would cry that I 
was mad and take thee from me. We will not stop 
here, another day. We will go far away from here.” 

“ Yes, let us go,” said the child earnestly. “ Let us 
begone from this place, and never turn back or think 
of it again. Let us wander barefoot through the world, 
rather than linger here.” 

“We will” — answered the old man, “we will travel 
afoot through the fields and woods, and by the side of 
rivers, and trust ourselves to God in the places where 
He dwells. It is far better to lie down at night be- 
neath an open sky like that yonder — see how bright 
it is ! — than to rest in close rooms which are always 
full of care and weary dreams. Thou and I together, 
Nell, may be cheerful and happy yet, and learn to for- 
get this time, as if it had never been.” 

“We will be happy,” cried the child. “We never 
can be here.” 


142 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ No, we never can again — never again — that’s 
truly said,” rejoined the old man. “ Let us steal away 
to-morrow morning — early and softly, that we may not 
be seen or heard — and leave no trace or track for 
them to follow by. Poor Nell ! Thy cheek is pale, 
and thy eyes are heavy with watching and weeping — 
with watching and weeping for me — I know — for me ; 
but thou wilt be well again, and merry too, when we 
are far away. To-morrow morning, dear, we’ll turn 
our faces from this scene of sorrow, and be as free 
and happy as the birds.” 

And then, the old man clasped his hands above her 
head, and said, in a few broken words, that from that 
time forth they would wander up and down together, 
and never part more until Death took one or other 
of the twain. 

The child’s heart beat high with hope and confidence. 
She had no thought of hunger, or cold, or thirst, or 
suffering. She saw in this, but a return of the simple 
pleasures they *had once enjoyed, a relief from the 
gloomy solitude in which she had lived, an escape from 
the heartless people by whom she had been surrounded 
in her late time of trial, the restoration of the old 
man’s health and peace, and a life of tranquil happi- 
ness. Sun, and stream, and meadow, and summer days, 
shone brightly in her view, and there was no dark tint 
in all the sparkling picture. 

The old man had slept, for some hours, soundly in 
his bed, and she was yet busily engaged in preparing 
for their flight. There were a few articles of clothing 
for herself to carry, and a few for him ; old garments, 
such as became their fallen fortunes, laid out to wear ; 
and a staff to support his feeble steps, put ready for 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


14a 


his use. But this was not all her task ; for now she 
must visit the old rooms for the last time. 

And how different the parting with them, was, from 
any she had expected, and most of all from that which 
she had oftenest pictured to herself. How could she 
ever have thought of bidding them farewell in triumph, 
when the recollection of the many hours she had passed 
among them rose to her swelling heart, and made her 
feel the wish a cruelty : lonely and sad though many 
of those hours had been ! She sat down at the win- 
dow where she had spent so many evenings — darker 
far, than this — and every thought of hope or cheer- 
fulness that had occurred to her in that place came 
vividly upon her mind, and blotted out all its dull and 
mournful associations in an instant. 

Her own little room, too, where she had so often knelt 
down and prayed at night — prayed for the time which 
she hoped was dawning now — the little room where 
she had slept so peacefully, and dreamed such pleasant 
dreams — it was hard not to be able to glance round 
it once more, and to be forced to leave it without one 
kind look or grateful tear. There were some trifles 
there — poor useless things — that she would have 
liked to take away ; but that was impossible. 

This brought to her mind her bird, her poor bird, 
who hung there yet. She wept bitterly for the loss 
of this little creature — until the idea occurred to her 
— she did not know how, or why, it came into her 
head — that it might, by some means, fall into the 
hands of Kit who would keep it for her sake, and 
think, perhaps, that she had left it behind in the hope 
that he might have it, and as an assurance that she 
vas grateful to him. She was calmed and comforted 
by the thought, and went to rest with a lighter heart. 


144 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


From many dreams of rambling through light and 
sunny places, but with some vague object unattained 
which ran indistinctly through them all, she awoke to 
find that it was yet night, and that the stars were shining 
brightly in the sky. At length, the day began to glim- 
mer, and the stars to grow pale and dim. As soon as 
she was sure of this, she arose, and dressed herself for 
the journey. 

The old man was yet asleep, and as she was unwilling 
to disturb him, she left him to slumber on, until the sun 
rose. He was anxious that they should leave the house 
without a minuted loss of time, and was soon ready. 

The child then took him by the hand, and they trod 
lightly and cautiously down the stairs, trembling when- 
ever a board creaked, and often stopping to listen. The 
old man had forgotten a kind of wallet which contained 
the light burden he had to carry ; and the going back a 
few steps to fetch it, seemed an interminable delay. 

At last they reached the passage on the ground-floor, 
where the snoring of Mr. Quilp and his legal friend 
sounded more terrible in their ears than the roars of 
lions. The bolts of the door were rusty, and difficult to 
unfasten without noise. When they were all drawn 
back, it was found to be locked, and, worst of all, the 
key was gone. Then the child remembered, for the first 
time, one of the nurses having told her that Quilp always 
locked both the house-doors at night, and kept the keys 
on the table in his bedroom. 

It was not without great fear and trepidation, that lit- 
tle Nell slipped off her shoes and gliding through the 
store-room of old curiosities, where Mr. Brass the ug- 
liest piece of goods in all the stock — lay sleeping on a 
mattress, passed into her own little chamber. 

Here stood, for a few moments, quite transfixed 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


145 


with terror at the sight of Mr. Quilp, who was hanging 
so far out of bed that he almost seemed to be standing on 
his head, and who, either from the uneasiness of this pos- 
ture, or in one of his agreeable habits, was gasping and 
growling with his mouth wide open, and the whites (or 
rather the dirty yellows) of his eyes distinctly visible. 
It was no time, however, to ask whether anything ailed 
him ; so, possessing herself of the key after one hasty 
glance about the room, and repassing the prostrate Mr. 
Brass, she rejoined the old man in safety. They got the 
door open without noise, and passing into the street, 
stood still. 

“ Which way ? ” said the child. 

The old man looked, irresolutely and helplessly, first 
at her, then to the right and left, then at her again, and 
shook his head. It was plain that she was thenceforth 
his guide and leader. The child felt it, but had no 
doubts or misgiving, and putting her hand in his, led him 
gently away. 

It was the beginning of a day in June ; the deep blue 
sky unsullied by a cloud, and teeming with brilliant light. 
The streets were, as yet, nearly free from passengers, 
the houses and shops were closed, and the healthy air of 
morning fell like breath from angels, on the sleeping 
town. 

The old man and the child passed on through the 
glad silence, elate with hope and pleasure. They were 
alone together, once again ; every object was bright and 
fresh ; nothing reminded them, otherwise than by con- 
trast, of the monotony and constraint they had left be- 
hind ; church towers and steeples, frowning and dark at 
sther times, now shone and dazzled in the sun ; each 
humble nook and corner rejoiced in light ; and the sky, 

VOL. i. 10 


146 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


dimmed only by excessive distance, shed its placid smile 
on everything beneath. 

Forth from the city, while it yet slumbered, went 
the two poor adventurers, wandering they knew not 
whither. 


:-:T 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


147 


CHAPTER XIII. 

Daniel Quilp of Tower Hill, and Sampson Brass of 
Be vis Marks in the city of London, Gentleman, one of 
her Majesty’s attorneys of the Courts of King’s Bench 
and Common Pleas at Westminster and a solicitor of the 
High Court of Chancery, slumbered on, unconscious and 
unsuspicious of any mischance, until a knocking at the 
street-door, often repeated and gradually mounting up 
from a modest single rap to a perfect battery of knocks, 
fired in long discharges with a very short interval be- 
tween, caused the said Daniel Quilp to struggle into a 
horizontal position, and to stare at the ceiling with a 
drowsy indifference, betokening that he heard the noise 
and rather wondered at the same, but couldn’t be at the 
trouble of bestowing any further thought upon the sub- 
ject. 

As the knocking, however, instead of accommodating 
itself to his lazy state, increased in vigor and became 
more importunate, as if in earnest remonstrance against 
his falling asleep again, now that he had once opened his 
eyes, Daniel Quilp began by degrees to comprehend the 
possibility of there being somebody at the door ; and 
thus he gradually came to recollect that it was Friday 
morning, and he had ordered Mrs. Quilp to be in waiting 
upon him at an early hour. 

Mr. Brass, after writhing about, in a great many 


148 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


strange attitudes, and often twisting his face and eyes 
into an expression like that which is usually produced by 
eating gooseberries very early in the season, was by this 
time awake also. Seeing that Mr. Quilp invested him- 
self in his every-day garments, he hastened to do the 
like, putting on his shoes before his stockings, and thrust- 
ing his legs into his coat-sleeves, and making such other 
small mistakes in his toilet as are not uncommon to those 
who dress in a hurry, and labor under the agitation of 
having been suddenly roused. 

While the attorney was thus engaged, the dwarf was 
groping under the table, muttering desperate impreca- 
tions on himself, and mankind in general, and all inani- 
mate objects to boot, which suggested to Mr. Brass the 
question “ what’s the matter ? ” 

“ The key,” said the dwarf, looking viciously at him, 
“ the door-key, — that’s the matter. D’ye know any- 
thing of it?” 

“ How should I know anything of it, sir ? ” returned 
Mr. Brass. 

“ How should you ? ” repeated Quilp with a sneer. 
“ You’re a nice lawyer, a’n’t you ? Ugh, you idiot ! ” 

Not caring to represent to the dwarf in his present 
humor, that the loss of a key by another person could 
scarcely be said to affect his (Brass’s) legal knowledge 
in any material degree, Mr. Brass humbly suggested that 
it must have been forgotten overnight, and was, doubt- 
less, at that moment in its native key-hole. Notwith- 
standing that Mr. Quilp had a strong conviction to the 
contrary, founded on his recollection of having carefully 
taken it out, he was fain to admit that this was possible, 
and therefore went grumbling to the door where, sure 
enough, he found it. 


THE* OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


149 


Now, just as Mr. Quilp laid his hand upon the lock, 
and saw with great astonishment that the fastenings 
were undone, the knocking came again with most irri- 
tating violence, and the daylight which had been shining 
through the key-hole was intercepted on the outside by 3 
human eye. The dwarf was very much exasperated, 
and wanting somebody to wreak his ill-humor upon, de- 
termined to dart out suddenly, and favor Mrs. Quilp with 
a gentle acknowledgment of her attention in making 
that hideous uproar. 

With this view, he drew back the lock very silently 
and softly, and opening the door all at once, pounced out 
upon the person on the other side, who had at that 
moment raised the knocker for another application, and 
at whom the dwarf ran head first : throwing out his 
hands and feet together, and biting the air in the fulness 
of his malice. 

So far, however, from rushing upon somebody who 
offered no resistance and implored his mercy, Mr. Quilp 
was no sooner in the arms of the individual whom he 
had taken for his wife than he found himself compli- 
mented with two staggering blows on the head, and two 
more, of the same quality, in the chest ; and closing with 
his assailant, such a shower of buffets rained down upon 
his person as sufficed to convince him that he was in 
skilful and experienced hands. Nothing daunted by this 
reception, he clung tight to his opponent, and bit and 
hammered away with such good-will and heartiness, that 
it was at least a couple of minutes before he was dis- 
lodged. Then, and not until then, Daniel Quilp found 
himself, all flushed and dishevelled, in the middle of the 
street, with Mr. Richard Swiveller performing a kind of 
dance round him and requiring to know “ whether he 
wanted any more.” 


150 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


There’s plenty more of it at the same shop,” said 
Mr. Swiveller, by turns advancing and retreating in a 
threatening attitude, “ a large and extensive assortment 
always on hand — country orders executed with prompt- 
itude and despatch — will you have a little more, sir — 
don’t say no, if you’d rather not.” 

“ I thought it was somebody else,” said Quilp, rubbing 
his shoulders, “ why didn’t you say who you were ? ” 

“ Why didn’t you say who you were? ” returned Dick, 
“ instead of flying out of the house like a Bedlamite ? ” 
u It was you that — that knocked,” said the dwarf, get- 
ting up with a short groan, “ was it ? ” 

“ Yes, I am the man,” replied Dick. “ That lady had 
begun when I came, but she knocked too soft, so I re- 
lieved her.” As he said this, he pointed towards Mrs. 
Quilp, who stood trembling at a little distance. 

“ Humph ! 99 muttered the dwarf, darting an angry look 
at his wife, “ I thought it was your fault ! And you, sir 
— don’t you know there has been somebody ill here, that 
you knock as if you’d beat the door down ? ” 

“ Damme ! ” answered Dick, “ that’s why I did it. I 
thought there was somebody dead here.” 

“ You came for some purpose, I suppose,” said Quilp. 
u What is it you want ? ” 

“ I want to know how the old gentleman is,” rejoined 
Mr. Swiveller, “and to hear from Nell herself, with 
whom I should like to have a little talk. I’m a friend 
of the family, sir, — at least I’m the friend of one of the 
family, and that’s the same thing.” 

“ You’d better walk in then,” said the dwarf. u Go 
on, sir, go on. Now Mrs. Quilp — after you, ma’am.” 

Mrs. Quilp hesitated, but Mr. Quilp insisted. And it 
was not a contest of politeness, or by any means a matter 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


151 


of form, for she knew very well that her husband wished 
to enter the house in this order, that he might have a 
favorable opportunity of inflicting a few pinches on her 
arms, which were seldom free from impressions of his 
fingers in black and blue colors. Mr. Swiveller, who 
was not in the secret, was a little surprised to hear a 
suppressed scream, and, looking round, to see Mrs. Quilp 
following him with a sudden jerk ; but he did not re- 
mark on these appearances, and soon forgot them. 

“ Now, Mrs. Quilp,” said the dwarf when they had 
entered the shop, “go you up-stairs, if you please, to 
Nelly’s room, and tell her that she’s wanted.” 

“ You seem to make yourself at home here,” said 
Dick, who was unacquainted with Mr. Quilp’ s authority. 

“ I am at home, young gentleman,” returned the 
dwarf. 

Dick was pondering what these words might mean, 
and still more what the presence of Mr. Brass might 
mean, when Mrs. Quilp came hurrying down-stairs, de- 
claring that the rooms above were empty. 

“ Empty, you fool ! ” said the dwarf. 

“ I give you my word, Quilp,” answered his trembling 
wife, “ that I have been into every room and there’s not 
a soul in any of them.” 

“ And that,” said Mr. Brass, clapping his hands once, 
with an emphasis, “ explains the mystery of the key ! ” 

Quilp looked frowningly at him, and frowningly at his 
wife, and frowningly at Richard Swiveller ; but, receiv- 
ing no enlightenment from any of them, hurried up-stairs, 
whence he soon hurried down again, confirming the re- 
port which had been already made. 

“ It’s a strange way of going,” he said, glancing at 
Swiveller : “ very strange not to communicate with me 


152 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


who am such a close and intimate friend of his ! Ah ! 
he’ll write to me no doubt, or he’ll bid Nelly write — 
yes, yes, that’s what he’ll do. Nelly’s very fond of me. 
Pretty Nell!” 

Mr. Swiveller looked, as he was, all open-mouthed as- 
tonishment. Still glancing furtively at him, Quilp turned 
to Mr. Brass and observed, with assumed carelessness, 
that this need not interfere with the removal of the 
goods. 

“ For indeed,” he added, “ we knew that they’d go 
away to-day, but not that they’d go so early, or so quiet- 
ly. But they have their reasons, they have their rea- 
sons.” 

“ Where in the devil’s name are they gone ? ” said the 
wondering Dick. 

Quilp shook his head and pursed up his lips, in a man- 
ner which implied that he knew very well, but was not 
at liberty to say. 

“ And what,” said Dick, looking at the confusion about 
him, “ what do you mean by moving the goods ? ” 

“ That I have bought ’em, sir,” rejoined Quilp. “ Eh ? 
What then ? ” 

“ Has the sly old fox made his fortune then, and gone 
to live in a tranquil cot in a pleasant spot with a distant 
view of the changing sea ? ” said Dick, in great bewil- 
derment. 

u Keeping his place of retirement very close, that he 
may not be visited too often by affectionate grandsons 
and their devoted friends, eh ? ” added the dwarf, rub- 
bing his hands hard ; “ I say nothing, but is that your 
meaning ? ” 

Richard Swiveller was utterly aghast at this unex- 
Vected alteration of circumstances, which threatened the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


153 


complete overthrow of the project in which he bore so 
conspicuous a part, and seemed to nip his prospects in 
the bud. Having only received from Frederick Trent, 
late on the previous night, information of the old man’s 
illness, he had come upon a visit of condolence and in- 
quiry to Nell, prepared with the first instalment of that 
long train of fascinations which was to fire her heart at 
last. And here, when he had been thinking of all kinds 
of graceful and insinuating approaches, and meditating 
on the fearful retaliation which was slowly working 
against Sophy Wackles — here were Nell, the old man, 
and all the money gone, melted aw r ay, decamped he 
knew not whither, as if with a foreknowledge of the 
scheme and a resolution to defeat it in the very outset, 
before a step was taken. 

In his secret heart, Daniel Quilp was both surprised 
and troubled by the flight which had been made. It had 
not escaped his keen eye that some indispensable articles 
of clothing were gone with the fugitives, and knowing 
the old man’s weak state of mind, he marvelled what 
that course of proceeding might be in which he had so 
readily procured the concurrence of the child. It must 
not be supposed (or it would be a gross injustice to Mr. 
Quilp) that he was tortured by any disinterested anxiety 
on behalf of either. His uneasiness arose from a mis- 
giving that the old man had some secret store of money 
wtpch he had not suspected ; and the bare idea of its es 
taping his clutches, overwhelmed him with mortification 
and self-reproach. 

In this frame of mind, it was some consolation to him 
to find that Richard Swiveller was, for different reasons, 
evidently irritated and disappointed by the same cause. 
It was plain, thought the dwarf, that he had come there 


154 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


on behalf of his friend, to cajole or frighten the old man 
out of some small fraction of that wealth of which they 
supposed him to have an abundance. Therefore, it was 
a relief to vex his heart with a picture of the riches the 
old man hoarded, and to expatiate on his cunning in re- 
moving himself even beyond the reach of importunity. 

44 Well” said Dick, with a blank look, 44 1 suppose it’s 
of no use my staying here.” 

44 Not the least in the world,” rejoined the dwarf. 

. 44 You’ll mention that I called, perhaps ? ” said Dick. 

Mr. Quilp nodded, and said he certainly would, the 
very first time he saw them. 

44 And say,” added Mr. Swiveller, 44 say, sir, that I was 
wafted here upon the pinions of concord ; that I came to 
remove, with the rake of friendship, the seeds of mutual 
wiolence and heart-burning, and to sow in their place, 
the germs of social harmony. Will you have the good- 
ness to charge yourself with that commission, sir ? ” 

44 Certainly ! ” rejoined Quilp. 

44 Will you be kind enough to add to it, sir,” said Dick, 
producing a very small limp card, 44 that that is my ad- 
dress, and that I am to be found at home every morning. 
Two distinct knocks, sir, will produce the slavey at any 
time. My particular friends, sir, are accustomed to 
sneeze when the door is opened, to give her to under- 
stand that they are my friends and have no interested 
motives in asking if I’m at home. I beg your pardon ; 
w ill you allow me to look at that card again ? ” 

44 Oh ! by all means,” rejoined Quilp. 

44 By a slight and not unnatural mistake, sir,” said 
Dick, substituting another in its stead, 44 1 had handed 
you the pass-ticket of a select convivial circle called the 
Glorious Apollers, of which I have the honor to be Per- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


155 


petual Grand. That is the proper document, sir. Good- 
morning.” 

Quilp bade him good-day ; the perpetual Grand Mas- 
ter of the Glorious Apollers, elevating his hat in honor 
of Mrs. Quilp, dropped it carelessly on the side of his 
head again, and disappeared with a flourish. 

By this time, certain vans had arrived for the convey- 
ance of the goods, and divers strong men in caps were bal- 
ancing chests of drawers and other trifles of that nature 
upon their heads, and performing muscular feats which 
heightened their complexions considerably. Not to be 
behindhand in the bustle, Mr. Quilp went to work with 
surprising vigor ; hustling and driving the people about, 
like an evil spirit ; setting Mrs. Quilp upon all kinds of 
arduous and impracticable tasks ; carrying great weights 
up and down, with no apparent effort ; kicking the boy 
from the wharf, whenever he could get near him ; and 
inflicting, with his loads, a great many sly bumps and 
blows on the shoulders of Mr. Brass, as he stood upon 
the door-steps to answer all the inquiries of curious 
neighbors : which was his department. His presence 
and example diffused such alacrity among the persons 
employed, that, in a few hours, the house was emptied 
of everything, but pieces of matting, empty porter-pots, 
and scattered fragments of straw. 

Seated, like an African chief, on one of these pieces 
of matting, the dwarf was regaling himself in the par- 
lor, with bread and cheese and beer, when he observed, 
without appearing to do so, that a boy was prying in at 
the outer-door. Assured that it was Kit, though he saw 
little more than his nose, Mr. Quilp hailed him by his 
name ; whereupon, Kit came in and demanded what he 
wanted. 


156 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Come here, you sir,” said the dwarf. “ Well, so 
your old master and young mistress have gone ? ” 

“ Where ? ” rejoined Kit, looking round. 

“ Do you mean to say you don’t know where ? ” 
answered Quilp sharply. “ Where have they gone, 
eh?” 

“I don’t know,” said Kit. 

“ Come,” retorted Quilp, “ let’s have no more of this ! 
Do you mean to say that you don’t know they went 
away by stealth, as soon as it was light this morning r ” 

“ No,” said the boy, in evident surprise. 

“ You don’t know that ? ” cried Quilp. “ Don’t I 
know that you were hanging about the house the other 
night, like a thief, eh? Weren’t you told then? ” 

“ No,” replied the boy. 

“ You were not ? ” said Quilp. “ What were you told 
then ; what were you talking about ? ” 

Kit, who knew no particular reason why he should 
keep the matter secret now, related the purpose for 
which he had come on that occasion, and the proposal 
he had made. 

“ Oh 1 ” said the dwarf after a little consideration. 
“Then, I think they’ll come to you yet.” 

“ Do you think they will ? ” cried Kit eagerly. 

“Ay, I think they will,” returned the dwarf. “Now, 
when they do, let me know ; d’ye hear ? Let me know, 
and I’ll give you something. I want to do ’em a kind- 
ness, and I can’t do ’em a kindness unless I know where 
they are. You hear what I say ? ” 

Kit might have returned some answer which would 
not have been agreeable to his irascible questioner, if 
the boy from the wharf, who had been skulking about 
the room in search of anything that might have been left 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


157 


about by accident, had not happened to cry, " Here’s a 
bird ! What’s to be done with this ? ” 

"Wring its neck,” rejoined Quilp. 

“ Oh no, don’t do that,” said Kit, stepping forward. 
“ Give it to me.” 

“ Oh yes, I dare say,” cried the other boy. “ Come 
You let the cage alone, and let me wring its neck will 
you ? He said I was to do it. You let the cage alone 
will you.” 

“ Give it here, give it to me, you dogs,” roared Quilp. 
“ Fight for it, you dogs, or I’ll wring its neck myself! ” 

Without further persuasion, the two boys fell upon 
each other, tooth and nail, while Quilp, holding up the 
cage in one hand, and chopping the ground with his 
knife in an ecstasy, urged them on by his taunts and 
cries to fight more fiercely. They were a pretty equal 
match, and rolled about together, exchanging blows 
which were by no means child’s play, until at length 
Kit, planting a well-directed hit in his adversary’s chest, 
disengaged himself, sprung nimbly up, and snatching the 
cage from Quilp’s hands, made off with his prize. 

He did not stop once, until he reached home, where 
his bleeding face occasioned great consternation, and 
caused the elder child to howl dreadfully. 

“ Goodness gracious, Kit, what is the matter, what 
have you been doing ? ” cried Mrs. Nubbles. 

“ Never you mind, mother,” answered her son, wiping 
his face on the jack-towel behind the door. “ I’m not 
hurt, don’t you be afraid for me. I’ve been a-fightin* 
for a bird and won him, that’s all. Hold your noise, lit- 
tle Jacob. I never see such a naughty boy in all my 
days ! ” 

“ You have been a-fighting for a bird ! ” exclaimed his 
mother. 


158 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Ah ! Fightin , for a bird ! ” replied Kit, “ and here 
he is — Miss Nelly’s bird, mother, that they was a-goin* 
to wring the neck of! I stopped that, though — ha, ha, 
ha ! They wouldn’t wring his neck and me by, no, no. 
It wouldn’t do, mother, it wouldn’t do at all. Ha, ha, 
la!” 

Kit laughing so heartily, with his swollen and bruised 
face looking out of the towel, made little Jacob laugh, 
and then his mother laughed, and then the baby crowed 
and kicked with great glee, and then they all laughed 
in concert : partly because of Kit’s triumph, and partly 
because they were very fond of each other. When this 
fit was over, Kit exhibited the bird to both children, as a 
great and precious rarity — it was only a poor linnet — 
and looking about the wall for an old nail, made a scaf- 
folding of a chair and table, and twisted it out with great 
exultation. 

“ Let me see,” said the boy, “ I think I’ll hang him in 
the winder, because it’s more light and cheerful, and he 
can see the sky there, if he looks up very much. He’s 
such a one to sing, I can tell you ! ” 

So, the scaffolding was made again, and Kit, climbing 
up with the poker for a hammer, knocked in the nail 
and hung up the cage, to the immeasurable delight of 
the whole family. When it had been adjusted and 
straightened a great many times, and he had walked 
backwards into the fireplace in his admiration of it, the 
arrangement was pronounced to be perfect. 

“And now mother,” said the boy, “ before I rest any 
more, I’ll go out and see if I can find a horse to hold, 
and then I can buy some bird-seed, and a bit of some- 
thing nice for you, into the bargain.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


1.39 


CHAPTER XIV. 

As it was very easy for Kit to persuade himself that 
the old house was in his way, his way being anywhere, 
he tried to look upon his passing it at once more as a 
matter of imperative and disagreeable necessity, quite 
apart from any desire of his own, to which he could not 
choose but yield. It is not uncommon for people who 
are much better fed and taught than Christopher Nub- 
bles had ever been, to make duties of their inclinations 
in matters of more doubtful propriety, and to take great 
credit for the self-denial with which they gratify them- 
selves. 

There was no need of any caution this time, and no 
fear of being detained by having to play out a return 
match with Daniel Quilp’s boy. The place was entirely 
deserted, and looked as dusty and dingy as if it had been 
so for months. A rusty padlock was fastened on the 
door, ends of discolored blinds and curtains flapped 
drearily against the half-opened upper windows, and 
the crooked holes cut in the closed shutters below, w T ere 
black with the darkness of the inside. Some of the 
glass in the window he had so often watched, had been 
broken in the rough hurry of the morning, and that room 
looked more deserted and dull than any. A group of 
Idle urchins had taken possession of the door-steps ; 


160 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


some were plying the knocker and listening with de- 
lighted dread to the hollow sounds it spread through the 
dismantled house ; others were clustered about the key- 
hole, watching half i& jest and half in earnest for “ the 
ghost,” which an hour’s gloom, added to the mystery that 
jung about the late inhabitants, had already raised. 
Standing all alone in the midst of the business and bus- 
tle of the street, the house looked a picture of cold deso- 
lation ; and Kit, who remembered the cheerful fire that 
used to burn there on a winter’s night and the no less 
cheerful laugh that made the small room ring, turned 
quite mournfully away. 

It must be especially observed in justice to poor Kit 
that he was by no means of a sentimental turn, and 
perhaps had never heard that adjective in all his life. 
He was only a soft-hearted grateful fellow, and had 
nothing genteel or polite about him ; consequently, in- 
stead of going home again, in his grief, to kick the 
children and abuse his mother (for, when your finely 
strung people are out of sorts, they must have every- 
body else unhappy likewise), he turned his thoughts to 
the vulgar expedient of making them more comfortable 
if he could. 

Bless us what a number of gentlemen on horseback 
there were riding up and down, and how few of them 
wanted their horses held ! A good city speculator or 
i parliamentary commissioner could have told to a frac- 
ion, from the crowds that were cantering about, what 
sum of money was realized in London, in the course 
of a year, by holding horses alone. And undoubtedly 
it would have been a very large one, if only a twen- 
tieth part of the gentlemen without grooms had had 
occasion to alight ; but they had not ; and it is often an 


THE 0L1) CURIOSITY SHOP. 


161 


ill-natured circumstance like this which spoils the most 
ingenious estimate in the world. 

Kit walked about, now with quick steps and now 
with slow ; now lingering as some rider slackened his 
horse’s pace and looked about him ; and now darting 
at full speed up a by-street as he caught a glimpse of 
some distant horseman going lazily up the shady side 
of the road, and promising to stop, at every door. 
But on they all went, one after another, and there was 
not a penny stirring. “ I wonder,” thought the boy, 
“ if one of these gentlemen knew there was nothing in 
the cupboard at home, whether he’d stop on purpose, 
and make believe that he wanted to call somewhere, 
that I might earn a trifle ? ” 

He was quite tired out with pacing the streets, to 
say nothing of repeated disappointments, and was sitting 
down upon a step to rest, when there approached tow- 
ards him a little clattering, jingling four-wheeled chaise, 
drawn by a little obstinate-looking rough-coated pony, 
and driven by a little fat placid-faced old gentleman. Be- 
side the little old gentleman sat a little old lady, plump 
and placid like himself, and the pony was coming along 
at his own pace, and doing exactly as he pleased with the 
whole concern. If the old gentleman remonstrated by 
shaking the reins, the pony replied by shaking his head. 
It was plain that the utmost the pony would consent 
to do, was to go in his own way up any street that 
the old gentleman particularly wished to traverse, but 
that it was an understanding between them that he 
must do this after his own fashion or not at all. 

As they passed where he sat, Kit looked so wist- 
fully at the little turnout, that the old gentleman looked 
at him. Kit rising and putting his hand to his hat, 

VOL. i. 11 


162 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the old gentleman intimated to the pony that he wished 
to stop, to which proposal the pony (who seldom ob- 
jected to that part of his duty) graciously acceded. 

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” said Kit. “ I’m sorry you 
stopped, sir. I only meant did you want your horse 
minded?” 

“ I’m going to get down in the next street,” returned 
the old gentleman. “ If you like to come on after U9, 
you may have the job.” 

Kit thanked him, and joyfully obeyed. The pony 
ran off at a sharp angle to inspect a lamp-post on the 
opposite side of the way, and then went off at a tangent 
to another lamp-post on the other side. Having satis- 
fied himself that they were of the same pattern and 
materials, he came to a stop, apparently absorbed in 
meditation. 

“ Will you go on, sir,” said the old gentleman, 
gravely, “ or are we to wait here for you ’till it’s too 
late for our appointment ? ” 

The pony remained immovable. 

“ Oh you naughty Whisker,” said the old lady. “ Fie 
upon you ! I am ashamed of such conduct.” 

The pony appeared to be touched by this appeal to 
his feelings, for he trotted on directly, though in a 
sulky manner, and stopped no more until he came to 
a door whereon was a brass plate with the words 
“ Witherden — Notary.” Here the old gentleman got 
out and helped out the old lady, and then took from 
under the seat a nosegay resembling in shape and di- 
mensions a full-sized warming-pan with the handle cut 
short off. This, the old lady carried into the house 
with a staid and stately air, and the old gentleman 
(who had a club-foot) followed clos^ upon her. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


163 


They went, as it was easy to tell from the sound 
of their voices, into the front parlor, which seemed to 
be a kind of office. The day being very warm and 
the street a quiet one, the windows were wide open ; 
and it was easy to hear through the Venetian blinds 
all that passed inside. 

At first, there was a great shaking of hands and 
shuffling of feet, succeeded by the presentation of the 
nosegay ; for a voice, supposed by the listener to be 
that of Mr. Witherden the Notary, was heard to ex- 
claim a great many times, 44 oh, delicious ! ” 44 oh, fra- 
grant indeed ! ” and a nose, also supposed to be the 
property of that gentleman, was heard to inhale the 
scent with a snuffle of exceeding pleasure. 

“ I brought it in honor of the occasion, sir,” said the 
old lady. 

“ Ah ! an occasion indeed, ma’am ; an occasion which 
does honor to me, ma’am, honor to me,” . rejoined Mr. 
Witherden, the Notary. “I have had many a gentle- 
man articled to me, ma’am, many a one. Some of 
them are now rolling in riches, unmindful of their old 
companion and friend, ma’am ; others are in the habit 
of calling upon me to this day and saying, 4 Mr. 
Witherden, some of the pleasantest hours I ever spent 
in my life were spent in this office — were spent, sir, 
upon this very stool ; ’ but there was never one among 
the number, ma’am, attached as I have been to many 
of them, of whom I augured such bright things as I do 
of your only son.” 

“ Oh dear ! ” said the old lady. 44 How happy you 
do make us when you tell us that, to be sure ! ” 

44 1 tell you, ma’am,” said Mr. Witherden, 44 what I 
think as an honest man, which, as the poet observes, 


164 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


is the noblest work of God. I agree with the poet in 
every particular, ma’am. The mountainous Alps on the 
one hand, or a humming-bird on the other, is nothing, 
in point of workmanship, to an honest man — or woman 
— or woman.” 

“ Anything that Mr. Witherden can say of me,” ob- 
served a small quiet voice, “ I can say, with interest, 
of him, I am sure.” 

“ It’s a happy circumstance, a truly happy circum- • 
stance,” said the Notary, “ to happen too upon his 
eight-and-twentieth birthday, and I hope I know how 
to appreciate it. I trust, Mr. Garland, my dear sir, 
that we may mutually congratulate each other upon 
this auspicious occasion.” 

To this the old gentleman replied that he felt assured 
they might. There appeared to be another shaking of 
hands in consequence, and when it was over, the old 
gentleman said that, though he said it who should not, 
he believed no son had ever been a greater comfort to 
his parents than Abel Garland had been to his. 

“ Marrying as his mother and I did, late in life, sir, 
after waiting for a great many years, until we were 
well enough off — - coming together when we were no 
longer young, and then being blessed with one child 
who has always been dutiful and affectionate — why, 
it’s a source of great happiness to us both, sir.” 

“ Of course it is, I have no doubt of it,” returned 
the Notary in a sympathizing voice. “ It’s the contem- 
plation of this sort of thing, that makes me deplore my 
fate in being a bachelor. There was a young lady 
once, sir, the daughter of an outfitting-warehouse of the 
first respectability — but that’s a weakness. Chuckster, 
bring in Mr. Abel’s articles.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


165 


“ You see, Mr. Witherden,” said the old lady, “ that 
Abel has not been brought up like the run of young 
men. He has always had a pleasure in our society, 
and always been with us. Abel lias never been ab- 
sent from us for a day ; has he, my dear ? ” 

“ Never, my dear,” returned the old gentleman, “ ex- 
cept when he went to Margate one Saturday with Mr. 
Tomkinley that had been a teacher at that school he 
went to, and came back upon the Monday ; but he was 
very ill after that, you remember, my dear; it was 
quite a dissipation.” 

“ He was not used to it, you know,” said the old 
lady ; “ and he couldn’t bear it, that’s the truth. Be- 
sides he had no comfort in being there without us, and 
had nobody to talk to or enjoy himself with.” 

“ That was it, you know,” interposed the same small 
quiet voice that had spoken once before. “ I was quite 
abroad, mother, quite desolate, and to think that the sea 
was between us — oh, I never shall forget what I felt 
when I first thought that the sea was between us ! ” 

“Very natural under the circumstances,” observed the 
Notary. “ Mr. Abel’s feelings did credit to his nature, 
and credit to your nature, ma’am, and his father’s na- 
ture, and human nature. I trace the same current now, 
flowing through all his quiet and unobtrusive proceed- 
ings. — I am about to sign my name, you observe, at 
the foot of the articles which Mr. Chuckster will wit- 
ness ; and placing my finger upon this blue wafer with 
the vandyked corners, I am constrained to remark in a 
distinct tone of voice — don’t be alarmed, ma’am, it is 
merely a form of law — that I deliver this as my act 
Sind deed. Mr. Abel will place his name against the 
other wafer, repeating the same cabalistic words, and 


166 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the business is over. Ha, ha, ha ! You see how easily 
these things are done ! ” 

There was a short silence, apparently, while Mr. Abel 
went through the prescribed form, and then the shaking 
of hands and shuffling of feet were renewed, and shortly 
afterwards there was a clinking of wine-glasses and a 
great talkativeness on the part of everybody. In about 
a quarter of an hour Mr. Chuckster (with a pen behind 
his ear and his face inflamed with wine) appeared at the 
door, and condescending to address Kit by the jocose ap- 
pellation of “ Young Snob,” informed him that the visit- 
ors were coming out. 

Out they came forthwith ; Mr. Witherden, who was 
short, chubby, fresh-colored, brisk, and pompous, leading 
the old lady with extreme politeness, and the father and 
son following them, arm-in-arm. Mr. Abel, who had a 
quaint old-fashioned air about him, looked nearly of the 
same age as his father, and bore a wonderful resem- 
blance to him in face and figure, though wanting some- 
thing of his full, round cheerfulness, and substituting in 
its place a timid reserve. In all other respects, in the 
neatness of the dress, and even in the club-foot, he and 
the old gentleman were precisely alike. 

Having seen the old lady safely in her seat, and as- 
sisted in the arrangement of her cloak and a small 
basket which formed an indispensable portion of her 
equipage, Mr. Abel got into a little box behind which 
had evidently been made for his express accommodation, 
and smiled at everybody present by turns, beginning 
with his mother and ending w T ith the pony. There was 
then a great to-do to make the pony hold up his head 
that the bearing-rein might be fastened ; at last even 
this was effected ; and the old gentleman, taking his 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


167 


Beat and the reins, put his hand in his pocket to find 
a sixpence for Kit. 

He had no sixpences, neither had the old lady, nor 
Mr. Abel, nor the Notary, nor Mr. Chuckster. The old 
gentleman thought a shilling too much, but there was no 
shop in the street to get change at, so he gave it to the 

boy. 

“ There,” he said jokingly, “ I’m coming here again 
next Monday at the same time, and mind you’re here, 
my lad, to work it out.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Kit. “ I’ll he sure to be 
here.” 

He was quite serious, but they all laughed heartily at 
his saying so, especially Mr. Chuckster, who roared out- 
right and appeared to relish the joke amazingly. As the 
pony, with a presentiment that he was going home, or a 
determination that he would not go anywhere else (which 
was the same thing), trotted away pretty nimbly, Kit had 
no time to justify himself, and went his way also. Hav- 
ing expended his treasure in such purchases as he knew 
would be most acceptable at home, not forgetting some 
seed for the wonderful bird, he hastened back as fast as 
he could, so elated with his success and great good-fort- 
une, that he more than half expected Nell and the old 
man would have arrived before him. 


108 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XV. 

Often, while they were yet pacing the silent streets 
of the town on the morning of their departure, the child 
trembled with a mingled sensation of hope and fear as in 
some far-off figure imperfectly seen in the clear distance, 
her fancy traced a likeness to honest Kit. But although 
she would gladly have given him her hand and thanked 
him for what he had said at their last meeting, it was 
always a relief to find, when they came nearer to each 
other, that the person who approached was not he, but 
a stranger ; for even if she had not dreaded the effect 
which the sight of him might have wrought upon her 
fellow-traveller, she felt that to bid farewell to anybody 
now, and most of all to him who had been so faithful 
and so true, was more than she could bear. It was 
enough to leave dumb things behind, and objects that 
were insensible both to her love and sorrow. To have 
parted from her only other friend upon the threshold of 
that wild journey, would have wrung her heart indeed* 

Why is it that we can better bear to part in spirit than 
in body, and while we have the fortitude to act farewell 
have not the nerve to say it ? On the eve of long voy- 
ages or an absence of many years, friends who are ten- 
derly attached will separate with the usual look, the 
usual pressure of the hand, planning one final inter- 
view for the morrow, while each well knows that it is 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


169 


but a poor feint to save the pain of uttering that one 
word, and that the meeting will never be. Should pos- 
sibilities be worse to bear than certainties ? We do not 
shun our dying friends ; the not having distinctly taken 
leave of one among them, whom we left in all kindness 
and affection, will often imbitter the whole remainder of 
a life. 

The town was glad with morning light ; places that 
had shown ugly and distrustful all night long, now wore 
a smile ; and sparkling sunbeams dancing on chamber- 
windows, and twinkling through blind and curtain before 
sleepers’ eyes, shed light even into dreams, and chased 
away the shadows of the night. Birds in hot rooms, 
covered up close and dark, felt it was morning, and 
chafed and grew restless in their little cells ; bright- 
eyed mice crept back to their tiny homes and nestled 
timidly together ; the sleek house-cat, forgetful of her 
prey, sat winking at the rays of sun starting through 
key-hole and cranny in the door, and longed for her 
stealthy run and warm sleek bask outside. The nobler 
beasts confined in dens, stood motionless behind their 
bars, and gazed on fluttering boughs, and sunshine peep- 
ing through some little window, with eyes in which old 
forests gleamed — then trod impatiently the track their 
prisoned feet had worn — and stopped and gazed again. 
Men in their dungeons stretched their cramped cold 
limbs, and cursed the stone that no bright sky could 
warm. The flowers that sleep by night, opened their 
gentle eyes and turned them to the day. The light, 
creation’s mind, was everywhere, and all things owned 
its power. 

The two pilgrims, often pressing each other’s hands, 
©r exchanging a smile or cheerful look, pursued their 


170 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


way in silence. Bright and happy as it was, there was 
something solemn in the long deserted streets, from 
which, like bodies without souls, all habitual character 
and expression had departed, leaving but one dead uni- 
form repose, that made them all alike. All was so still 
at that early hour, that the few pale people whom they 
met seemed as much unsuited to the scene, as the sickly 
lamp which had been here and there left burning, was 
powerless and faint in the full glory of the sun. 

Before they had penetrated very far into the labyrinth 
of men’s abodes which yet lay between them and the 
outskirts, this aspect began to melt away, and noise and 
bustle to usurp its place. Some straggling carts and 
coaches rumbling by, first broke the charm, then others 
came, then others yet more active, then a crowd. The 
wonder was, at first, to see a tradesman’s room-window 
open, but it was a rare thing to see one closed ; then, 
smoke rose slowly from the chimneys, and sashes were 
thrown up to let in air, and doors were opened, and ser- 
vant girls, looking lazily in all directions but their brooms, 
scattered brown clouds of dust into the eyes of shrinking 
passengers, or listened disconsolately to milkmen who 
spoke of country fairs, and told of wagons in the mews, 
with awnings and all things complete, and gallant swains 
to boot, which another hour would see upon their journey. 

This quarter passed, they came upon the haunts of 
ommerce and great traffic, where many people were 
resorting, and business was already rife. The old man 
looked about him with a startled and bewildered gaze, 
for these were places that he hoped to shun. He 
pressed his finger on his lip, and drew the child along 
by narrow courts and winding ways, nor did he seem 
ftt ease until they had left it far behind, often casting 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


171 


a backward look towards it, murmuring that ruin and 
sell-murder were crouching in every street, and would 
follow if they scented them ; and that they could not 
fly too fast. 

Again this quarter passed, they came upon a strag- 
gling neighborhood, where the mean houses parcelled 
off in rooms, and windows patched with rags and pa- 
per, told of the populous poverty that sheltered there. 
The shops sold goods that only poverty could buy, and 
sellers and buyers were pinched and griped alike. Here 
were poor streets where faded gentility essayed with 
scanty space and shipwrecked means to make its last 
feeble stand, but tax-gatherer and creditor came there 
as elsewhere, and the poverty that yet faintly struggled 
was hardly less squalid and manifest than that which 
had long ago submitted and given up the game. 

This was a wide, wide track — for the humble fol- 
lowers of the camp of wealth pitch their tents round 
about it for many a mile — but its character was still 
the same. Damp rotten houses, many to let, many yet 
building, many half-built and mouldering away — lodg- 
ings where it would be hard to tell which needed pity 
most, those who let or those who came to take — chil- 
dren, scantily fed and clothed, spread over every street, 
and sprawling in the dust — scolding mothers, stamp- 
ing their slipshod feet with noisy threats upon the 
pavement — shabby fathers, hurrying with dispirited 
looks to the occupation which brought them “ daily 
bread ” and little more — mangling-womon, washer- 
women, cobblers, tailors, chandlers, driving their trades 
in parlors and kitchens and back-rooms and garrets, 
and sometimes all of them under the same roof — 
brick-fields skirting gardens paled with staves of old 


172 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


casks, or timber pillaged from houses burnt down, and 
blackened and blistered by the flames — mounds of dock- 
weed, nettles, coarse grass and oyster-shells, heaped in 
rank confusion — small dissenting chapels to teach, with 
no lack of illustration, the miseries of Earth, and plenty 
Df new churches, erected with a little superfluous wealth, 
to show the way to Heaven. 

At length these streets, becoming more straggling yet, 
dwindled and dwindled away, until there were only small 
garden patches bordering the road, with many a sum- 
mer-house innocent of paint and built of old timber or 
some fragments of a boat, green as the tough cabbage- 
stalks that grew about it, and grottoed at the seams with 
toadstools and tight-sticking snails. To these succeeded 
pert cottages, two and two, with plots of ground in front, 
laid out in angular beds with stiff box borders and 
narrow paths between, where footstep never strayed to 
make the gravel rough. Then, came the public-house, 
freshly painted in green and white, with tea-gardens and 
a bowling-green, spurning its old neighbor with the 
horse-trough where the wagons stopped ; then fields : 
and then, some houses, one by one, of goodly size, with 
lawns, some even with a lodge where dwelt a porter and 
his wife. Then, came a turnpike ; then fields again with 
trees and haystacks ; then, a hill ; and on the top of that, 
the traveller might stop, and — looking back at old St. 
Paul’s looming through the smoke, its cross peeping 
above the cloud (if the day were clear) and glittering 
in the sun ; and casting his eyes upon the Babel out 
which it grew until he traced it down to the farthest 
outposts of the invading army of bricks and mortar 
whose station lay for the present nearly at his feet — 
might feel at last that he was clear of London. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


173 


Near such a spot as this, and in a pleasant field, the 
old man and his little guide (if guide she were, who 
knew not whither they were bound) sat dow r n to rest. 
She had had the precaution to furnish her basket with 
some slices of bread and meat, and here they made their 
frugal breakfast. 

The freshness of the day, the singing of the birds, the 
beauty of the waving grass, the deep green leaves, the 
wild flowers, and the thousand exquisite scents and 
sounds that floated in the air, — deep joys to most of 
us, but most of all to those whose life is in a crowd, or 
who live solitarily in great cities as in the bucket of a 
human well, — sunk into their breasts and made them 
very glad. The child had repeated her artless prayers 
once that morning, more earnestly perhaps than she had 
ever done in all her life, but as she felt all this, they 
rose to her lips again. The old man took off his hat — 
he had no memory for the words — but he said amen, 
and that they were very good. 

There had been an old copy of the Pilgrim’s Progress, 
with strange plates, upon a shelf at home, over which 
she had often pored whole evenings, wondering whether 
it was true in every word, and where those distant coun- 
tries with the curious names might be. As she looked 
back upon the place they had left, one part of it came 
strongly on her mind. 

“ Dear grandfather,” she said, “ only that this place is 
prettier and a great deal better than the real one, if that 
in the book is like it, I feel as if we were both Christian, 
and laid down on this grass all the cares and troubles we 
brought with us ; never to take them up again.” 

“ No — never to return — never to return ” — replied 
the old man, waving his hand toward the city. “ Thou 


174 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


and I are free of it now, Nell. They shall never lure 
us back.” 

“ Are you tired ? ” said the child, “ are you sure you 
don’t feel ill from this long walk ? ” 

“ I shall never feel ill again, now that we are once 
away,” was his reply. u Let us be stirring, Nell. We 
must be further away — a long, long way further. We 
are too near to stop, and be at rest. Come ! ” 

There was a pool of clear water in the field, in which 
the child laved her hands and face, and cooled her feet 
before setting forth to walk again. She would have the 
old man refresh himself in this way too, and making him 
sit down upon the grass, cast the water on him with her 
hands, and dried it with her simple dress. 

“ I can do . nothing for myself, my darling,” said the 
grandfather. “ I don’t know how it is I could once, but 
the time’s gone. Don’t leave me, Nell ; say that thou’lt 
not leave me. I loved thee all the while, indeed I did. 
If I lose thee too, my dear, I must die ! ” 

He laid his head upon her shoulder and moaned pite- 
ously. The time had been, and a very few days before, 
when the child could not have restrained her tears and 
nust have wept with him. But now she soothed him 
vith gentle and tender words, smiled at his thinking 
hey could ever part, and rallied him cheerfully upon 
the jest. He was soon calmed and fell asleep, singing 
jo himself in a low voice, like a little child. 

He awoke refreshed, and they continued their jour- 
ley. The road was pleasant, lying between beautiful 
pastures and fields of corn, above which, poised high in 
he clear blue sky, the lark trilled out her happy song. 
The air came laden with the fragrance it caught upon 
ts way, and the bees, upborne upon its scented breath, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


175 


hummed forth their drowsy satisfaction as they floated 

*>y- 

They were now in the open country ; the houses were 
very few and scattered at long intervals, often mile3 
apart. Occasionally they came upon a cluster of poor 
cotta jes, some with a chair or low board put across the 
open door to keep the scrambling children from the road, 
others shut up close while all the family were working 
in the fields. These were often the commencement of 
a little village : and after an interval came a wheel- 
wright’s shed or perhaps a blacksmith’s forge ; then a 
thriving farm with sleepy cows lying about the yard, 
and horses peering over the low wall and scampering 
away w r hen harnessed horses passed upon the road, as 
though in triumph at their freedom. There were dull 
pigs too, turning up the ground in search of dainty 
food, and grunting their monotonous grumblings as they 
prowled about, or crossed each other in their quest ; 
plump pigeons skimming round the roof or strutting 
on the eaves ; and ducks and geese, far more graceful 
in their own conceit, waddling awkwardly about the 
edges of the pond or sailing glibly on its surface. The 
farm-yard passed, then came the little inn ; the humbler 
beer-shop ; and the village tradesman’s ; then the law- 
yer’s and the parson’s at whose dread names the beer- 
shop trembled ; the church then peeped ojit modestly 
from a clump of trees ; then there were a few more 
cottages ; then the cage, and pound, and not unfre- 
quently, on a bank by the way-side, a deep old dusty 
well. Then came the trim-hedged fields on either 
hand, and the open road again. 

They walked all day, and slept that night at a small 
cottage where beds were let to travellers. Next morn- 


176 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ing they were afoot again, and though jaded at first, and 
very tired, recovered before long and proceeded briskly 
forward. 

They often stopped to rest, but only for a short space 
at a time, and still kept on, having had but slight refresh- 
ment since the morning. It was nearly five o’clock in 
the afternoon, when drawing near another cluster of la- 
borers’ huts, the child looked wistfully in each, doubtful 
at which to ask for permission to rest awhile, and buy a 
draught of milk. 

It was not easy to determine, for she was timid and 
fearful of being repulsed. Here was a crying child and 
there a noisy wife. In this, the people seemed to be 
poor ; in that, too many. At length she stopped at one 
where the family were seated round a table — chiefly 
because there was an old man sitting in a cushioned 
chair beside the hearth, and she thought he was a 
grandfather and would feel for hers. 

There were besides, the cottager and his wife, and 
three young sturdy children, brown as berries. The 
request was no sooner preferred, than granted. The 
eldest boy ran out to fetch some milk, the second 
dragged two stools towards the door, and the youngest 
crept to his mother’s gown, and looked at the strangers 
from beneath his sunburnt hand. 

41 God save you master,” said the old cottager in a 
thin piping voice; “are you travelling far?” 

“Yes sir, a long way” — replied the child; for her 
grandfather appealed to her. 

“ From London?” inquired the old man. 

The child said yes. 

Ah ! he had been in London many a time — used 
to go there often once, with wagons. It was nigh two- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


177 


und-thirty year since he had been there last, and he 
did hear say there were great changes. Like enough ! 
He had changed himself, since then. Two-and-thirty 
year was a long time and eighty-four a great age, 
though there was some he had known that had lived 
to very hard upon a hundred — and not so hearty as 
he neither — no, nothing like it. 

“ Sit thee down, master, in the elbow-chair,” said 
the old man, knocking his stick upon the brick floor, 
and trying to do so sharply. u Take a pinch out o’ 
that box ; I don’t take much myself, for it comes dear, 
but I find it wakes me up sometimes, and ye’re but 
a boy to me. I should have a son pretty nigh as old 
as you if he’d lived, but they ’listed him for a so’gei 
— he come back home though, for all he had but one 
poor leg. He always said he’d be buried near the 
sundial he used to climb upon when he was a baby, 
did my poor boy, and his words come true — you can 
see the place with your own eyes ; we’ve kept the turf 
up, ever since.” 

He shook his head, and looking at his daughter with 
watery eyes, said she needn’t be afraid that he was 
going to talk about that, any more. He didn’t wish 
to trouble nobody, and if he had troubled anybody 
by what he said, he asked pardon, that was all. 

The milk arrived, and the child producing her little 
basket and selecting its best fragments for her grand 
father, they made a hearty meal. The furniture of the 
room was very homely of course — a few rough chairs 
and a table, a corner cupboard with their little stock 
of crockery and delf, a gaudy tea-tray, representing a 
lady in bright red, walking out with a very blue para- 
sol, a few common, colored scripture subjects in frames 
VOL. i. 12 


178 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


upon the wall and chimney, an old dwarf clothes-press 
and an eight-day clock, with a few bright saucepans 
and a kettle, comprised the whole. But everything was 
clean and neat, and as the child glanced round, she felt 
a tranquil air of comfort and content to which she had 
long been unaccustomed. 

“ How far is it to any town or village ? ” she asked 
of the husband. 

“A matter of good five mile, my dear,” was the 
reply ; “ but you’re not going on to-night ? ” 

u Yes yes, Nell,” said the old man hastily, urging her 
too by signs. “ Further on, further on, darling, further 
away if we walk till midnight.” 

“ There’s a good barn hard by, master,” .said the 
man, “or there’s traveller’s lodging, I know, at the 
Plough an’ Harrer. Excuse me, but you do seem a lit- 
tle tired, and unless you’re very anxious to get on ” — 

“Yes yes, we are,” returned the old man fretfully. 
“ Further away, dear Nell, pray further away.” 

“We must go on, indeed,” said the child, yielding 
to his restless wish. “We thank you very much, but 
we cannot stop so soon. I’m quite ready, grand- 
father.” 

But the woman had observed, from the young wan- 
derer’s gait, that one of her little feet was blistered and 
sore, and being a woman and a mother too, she would 
not suffer her to go until she had washed the place 
and applied some simple remedy, which she did so 
carefully and with such a gentle hand — rough-grained 
and hard though it was, with work — that the child’s 
heart was too full to admit of her saying more than 
a fervent “ God bless you ! ” nor could she look back 
nor trust herself to speak, until they had left the cot- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


179 


tage some distance behind. When she turned her head, 
she saw that the whole family, even the old grandfather, 
were standing in the road watching them as they went, 
and so, with many waves of the hand, and cheering 
nods, and on one side at least not without tears, they 
parted company. 

They trudged forward, more slowly and painfully than 
they had done yet, for another mile or thereabouts, when 
they heard the sound of wheels behind them, and look- 
ing round observed an empty cart approaching pretty 
briskly. The driver on coming up to them stopped his 
horse and looked earnestly at Nell. 

“ Didn’t you stop to rest at a cottage yonder ? ” he 
said. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the child. 

“ Ah ! They asked me to look out for you,” said 
the man. “ I’m going your way. Give me your hand 
— jump up, master.” 

This was a great relief, for they were very much 
fatigued and could scarcely crawl along. To them 
the jolting cart was a luxurious carriage, and the ride 
the most delicious in the world. Nell had scarcely 
settled herself on a little heap of straw in one corner, 
when she fell asleep, for the first time that day. 

She was awakened by the stopping of the cart, which 
was about to turn up a by-lane. The driver kindly 
got down to help her out, and pointing to some trees 
at a very short distance before them, said that the 
town lay there, and that they had better take the path 
which they would see leading through the church -yard. 
Accordingly, towards this spot they directed their weary 
steps. 


180 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

The sun was setting when they reached the wicket- 
gate at which the path began, and, as the rain falls 
upon the just and unjust alike, it shed its warm tint 
even upon the resting-places of the dead, and bade 
them be of good hope for its rising on the morrow. 
The church was old and gray, with ivy clinging to the 
walls, and round the porch. Shunning the tombs, it 
crept about the mounds, beneath which slept poor 
humble men : twining for them the first wreaths they 
had ever won, but wreaths less liable to wither and 
far more lasting in their kind, than some which were 
graven deep in stone and marble, and told in pompous 
terms of virtues meekly hidden for many a year, and 
only revealed at last to executors and mourning lega- 
tees. 

The clergyman’s horse, stumbling with a dull blunt 
sound among the graves, was cropping the grass ; at 
once deriving orthodox consolation from the dead pa- 
rishioners, and enforcing last Sunday’s text that this was 
what all flesh came to ; a lean ass who had sought to 
expound it also, without being qualified and ordained, 
was pricking his ears in an empty pound hard by, and 
looking with hungry eyes upon his priestly neighbor. 

The old man and the child quitted the gravel-path, 
and strayed among the tombs ; for there the ground 
was soft, and easy to their tired feet. As they passed 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


181 


behind the church, they heard voices near at hand, and 
presently came on those who had spoken. 

They were two men who were seated in easy atti 
tudes upon the grass, and so busily engaged as to be 
at first unconscious of intruders. It was riot difficul 4 
to divine that they were of a class of itinerant show 
men — exhibiters of the freaks of Punch — for, perches 
cross-legged upon a tombstone behind them was a figure 
of that hero himself, his nose and chin as hooked and 
his face as beaming as usual. Perhaps his impertur- 
bable character was never more strikingly developed, 
for he preserved his usual equable smile notwithstand- 
ing that his body was dangling in a most uncomforta- 
ble position, all loose and limp and shapeless, while 
his long peaked cap, unequally balanced against his 
exceedingly slight legs, threatened every instant to bring 
him toppling down. 

In part scattered upon the ground at the feet of the 
two men, and in part jumbled together in a long flat box, 
were the other persons of the Drama. The hero’s wife 
and one child, the hobby-horse, the doctor, the foreign 
gentleman w T lio not being familiar with the language is 
unable in the representation to express his ideas other- 
wise than by the utterance of the w r ord “ Shallabalah,” 
three distinct times, the radical neighbor who will by no 
means admit that a tin bell is an organ, the executioner, 
and the devil, were all here. Their owners had evi 
dently come to that spot to make some needful repairs in 
the stage arrangements, for one of them was engaged in 
binding together a small gallows with thread, while the 
other was intent upon fixing a new black wig, with the 
uid of a small hammer and some tacks, upon the head 
of the radical neighbor, who had been beaten bald. 


182 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


They raised their eyes when the old man and his 
young companion were close upon them, and pausing in 
their work, returned their looks of curiosity. One of 
them, the actual exhibiter no doubt, was a little merry- 
faced man with a twinkling eye and a red nose, who 
eemed to have unconsciously imbibed something of his 
hero’s character. The other — that was he who took 
the money — had rather a careful and cautious look, 
which was perhaps inseparable from his occupation 
also. 

The merry man was the first to greet the strangers 
with a nod ; and following the old man’s eyes, he ob- 
served that perhaps that was the first time he had ever 
seen a Punch off the stage. (Punch, it may be re- 
marked, seemed to be pointing with the tip of his cap to 
a most flourishing epitaph, and to be chuckling over it 
with all his heart.) 

“ Why do you come here to do this ? ” said the old 
man, sitting down beside them, and looking at the figures 
with extreme delight. 

“ Why you see,” rejoined the little man, “ we’re put- 
ting up for to-night at the public-house yonder, and it 
wouldn’t do to let ’em see the present company under- 
going repair.” 

“ No ! ” cried the old man, making signs to Nell to lis- 
ten, “ why not, eh ? why not ? ” 

“ Because it would destroy all the delusion, and take 
away all the interest, wouldn’t it ? ” replied the little 
man. “Would you care a ha’penny for the Lord Chan- 
cellor if you know’d him in private and without his wig ? 
— certainly not.” 

u Good ! ” said the old man, venturing to touch one of 
the puppets, and drawing away his hand with a shrill 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


183 


laugh. “ Are you going to show ’em to-night ? are 
you ? ” 

“ That is the intention, governor,” replied the other 
“ and unless I’m much mistaken, Tommy Codlin is a-cal- 
culating at this minute what we’ve lost through your 
coming upon us. Cheer up Tommy, it can’t be much.” 

The little man accompanied these latter words with a 
wink, expressive of the estimate he had formed of the 
travellers’ finances. 

To this Mr. Codlin, who had a surly, grumbling man- 
ner, replied, as he twitched Punch off the tombstone and 
flung him into the box, 

“ I don’t care if we haven’t lost a farden, but you’re 
too free. If you stood in front of the curtain and see 
the public’s faces as I do, you’d know human natur’ bet- 
ter.” 

“ Ah ! it’s been the spoiling of you, Tommy, your tak- 
ing to that branch,” rejoined his companion. “ When 
you played the ghost in the reg’lar drama in the fairs, 
you believed in everything — except ghosts. But now 
you’re a universal mistruster. I never see a man so 
changed.” 

“ Never mind,” said Mr. Codlin, with the air of a dis- 
contented philosopher. “ I know better now, and p’raps 
I’m sorry for it.” 

Turning over the figures in the box like one who 
knew and despised them, Mr. Codlin drew one forth and 
held it up for the inspection of his friend : 

“ Look here ; here’s all this Judy’s clothes falling to 
pieces again. You haven’t got a needle and thread ] 
suppose ? ” 

The little man shook his head, and scratched it rue- 
fully as he contemplated this severe indisposition of a 


184 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


principal performer. Seeing that they were at a loss, 
the child said timidly : 

“ I have a needle, sir, in my basket, and thread too. 
Will you let me try to mend it for you ? I think I can 
do it neater than you could.” 

Even Mr. Codlin had nothing to urge against a pro- 
posal so seasonable. Nelly, kneeling down beside the 
box, was soon busily engaged in her task, and accom- 
plishing it to a miracle. 

While she was thus engaged, the merry little man 
looked at her with an interest which did not appear to be 
diminished when he glanced at her helpless companion. 
When she had finished her work he thanked her, and 
inquired whither they were travelling. 

“ N — no further to-night, I think,” said the child, 
looking towards her grandfather. 

“ If you’re -wanting a place to stop at,” the man re- 
marked, “ I should advise you to take up at the same 
house with us. That’s it — the long, low, white house 
there. It’s very cheap.” 

The old man, notwithstanding his fatigue, would have 
remained in the church-yard all night if his new acquaint- 
ance had stayed there too. As he yielded to this sug- 
gestion a ready and rapturous assent, they all rose and 
walked away together ; he keeping close to the box of 
puppets in which he was quite absorbed, the merry little 
man carrying it slung over his arm by a strap attached 
to it for the purpose, Nelly having hold of her grand- 
father’s hand, and Mr. Codlin sauntering slowdy behind, 
casting up at the church-tower and neighboring trees 
such looks as he was accustomed in town-practice to di- 
rect to drawing-room and nursery windows, when seek* 
ing for a profitable spot on which to plant the show. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


185 


The public-house was kept by a fat old landlord and 
landlady who made no objection to receiving their new 
guests, but praised Nelly’s beauty and were at once pre- 
possessed in her behalf. There was no other company 
in the kitchen but the two showmen, and the child felt 
very thankful that they had fallen upon such good quar- 
ters. The landlady was very much astonished to learn 
that they had come all the way from London, and ap- 
peared to have no little curiosity touching their farther 
destination. The child parried her inquiries as well as 
she could, and with no great trouble, for finding that they 
appeared to give her pain, the old lady desisted. 

“These two gentlemen have ordered supper in an 
hour’s time,” she said, taking her into the bar; “and 
your best plan will be to sup with them. Meanwhile 
you shall have a little taste of something that’ll do you 
good, for I’m sure you must want it after all you’ve gone 
through to-day. Now, don’t look after the old gentle- 
man, because when you’ve drank that, he shall have 
some too. 

As nothing could induce the child to leave him alone, 
however, or to touch anything in which he was not the 
first and greatest sharer, the old lady was obliged to help 
him first. When they had been thus refreshed, the 
whole house hurried away into an empty stable where 
the show stood, and where, by the light of a few flaring 
‘andles stuck round a hoop which hung by a line from 
he ceiling, it was to be forthwith exhibited. 

And now Mr. Thomas Codlin, the misanthrope, after 
blowing away at the Pan’s pipes until he was intensely 
wretched, took his station on one side of the checked 
drapery which concealed the mover of the figures, and 
putting his hands in his pockets prepared to reply to all 


186 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


questions and remarks of Punch, and to make a dismal 
feint of being his most intimate private friend, of believ- 
ing in him to the fullest and most unlimited extent, of 
knowing that he enjoyed day and night a merry and glo- 
rious existence in that temple, and that he was at all 
times and under every circumstance the same intelligent 
and joyful person that the spectators then beheld him. 
All this Mr. Codlin did with the air of a man who had 
made up his mind for the worst, and was quite resigned; 
his eye slowly wandering about during the briskest re- 
partee to observe the effect upon the audience, and par- 
ticularly the impression made upon the landlord and 
landlady, which might be productive of very important 
results in connection with the supper. 

Upon this head, however, he had no cause for any anx- 
iety, for the whole performance was applauded to the echo, 
and voluntary contributions were showered in with a lib- 
erality which testified yet more strongly to the general 
delight. Among the laughter none was more loud and 
frequent than the old man’s. Nell’s was unheard, for 
she, poor child, with her head drooping on his shoulder, 
had fallen asleep, and slept too soundly to be roused by 
any of his efforts to awaken her to a participation in his 
glee. 

The supper was very good, but she was too tired to 
eat, and yet would not leave the old man until she had 
kissed him in his bed. He, happily insensible to every 
care and anxiety, sat listening with a vacant smile and 
admiring face to all that his new friends said ; and it was 
not until they retired yawning to their room, that he fol- 
lowed the child up-stairs. 

It was but a loft partitioned into two compartments, 
where they were to rest, but they were well pleased with 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


187 


their lodging and had hoped for none so good. The old 
man was uneasy when he had lain down, and begged 
that Nell would come and sit at his bedside as she had 
done for so many nights. She hastened to him, and sat 
there till he slept. 

There was a little window, hardly more than a chink 
in the wall, in her room, and when she left him, she 
opened it, quite wondering at the silence. The sight of 
the old church and the graves about it in the moonlight, 
and the dark trees whispering among themselves, made 
her more thoughtful than before. She closed the win* 
dow again, and sitting down upon the bed, thought of the 
life that was before them. 

She had a little money, but it was very little, and 
when that was gone, they must begin to beg. There 
was one piece of gold among it, and an emergency might 
come when its worth to them would be increased a hun- 
dred-fold. It would be best to hide this coin, and never 
produce it unless their case was absolutely desperate, and 
no other resource was left them. 

Her resolution taken, she sewed the piece ol gold into 
her dress, and going to bed with a lighter heart sunk into 
a deep slumber. 


188 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


CHAPTER XYII. 

Another bright day shining in through the small 
casement, and claiming fellowship with the kindred eyes 
of the child, awoke her. At sight of the strange room 
and its unaccustomed objects she started up in alarm, 
wondering how she had been moved from the familiar 
chamber in which she seemed to have fallen asleep last 
night, and whither she had been conveyed. But, another 
glance around called to her mind all that had lately 
passed, and she sprung from her bed, hoping and trust- 
ful. 

It was yet early, and the old man being still asleep, 
she walked out into the church-yard, brushing the dew 
from the long grass with her feet, and often turning aside 
into places where it grew longer than in others, that she 
might not tread upon the graves. She felt a curious 
kind of pleasure in lingering among these houses of the 
dead, and read the inscriptions on the tombs of the good 
people (a great number of good people were buried 
there), passing on from one to another with increasing 
interest. 

It was a very quiet place, as such a place should be, 
6ave for the cawing of the rooks who had built their 
nests among the branches of some tall old trees, and 
were calling to one another, high up in air. First, one 
sleek bird, hovering near his ragged house as it swung 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


189 


and dangled in the wind, uttered his hoarse cry, quite by 
chance as it would seem, and in a sober tone as though 
he were but talking to himself. Another answered, and 
he called again, but louder than before ; then another 
spoke and then another ; and each time the first, aggra- 
vated by contradiction, insisted on his case more strongly. 
Other voices, silent till now, struck in from boughs lower 
down and higher up and midway, and to the right and 
left, and from the tree-tops ; and others, arriving hastily 
from the gray church turrets and old belfry window, 
joined the clamor which rose and fell, and swelled and 
dropped again, and still went on ; and all this noisy con- 
tention amidst a skimming to and fro, and lighting on 
fresh branches, and frequent change of place, which sat- 
irized the old restlessness of those who lay so still be- 
neath the moss and turf below, and the strife in which 
they had worn away their lives. 

Frequently raising her eyes to the trees whence these 
sounds came down, and feeling as though they made the 
place more quiet than perfect silence would have done, 
the child loitered from grave to grave, now stopping to 
replace with careful hands the bramble which had started 
from some green mound it helped to keep in shape, and 
now peeping through one of the low latticed windows 
into the church, with its worm-eaten books upon the 
desks, and baize of whitened-green mouldering from the 
pew sides and leaving the naked wood to view. There 
were the seats where the poor old people sat, woin, spare, 
and yellow like themselves ; the rugged font, where chil- 
dren had their names, the homely altar where they knelt 
in ,after-life, the plain black tressels that bore their 
weight on their last visit to the cool old shady church. 
Everything told of long use and quiet slow decay ; the 


190 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


very bell-rope in the porch was frayed into a fringe, and 
hoary with old age. 

She was looking at a humble stone which told of a 
young man who had died at twenty-three years old, fifty- 
five years ago, when she heard a faltering step approach- 
ing, and looking round saw a feeble woman bent with 
the weight of years, who tottered to the foot of that same 
grave and asked her to read the writing on the stone. 
The old woman thanked her when she had done, saying 
that she had had the words by heart for many a long ; 
long year, but could not see them now. 

“ Were you his mother ? ” said the child. 

“ I was his wife, my dear.” 

She the wife of a young man of three-and-twenty ! 
Ah, true ! It was fifty-five years ago. 

“ You wonder <to hear me say that,” remarked the old 
woman, shaking her head. “ You’re not the first. Older 
folk than you have wondered at the same thing before 
now. Yes, I was his wife. Death doesn't change us 
more than life, my dear.” 

“ Do you come here often ? ” asked the child. 

“ I sit here very often in the summer-time,” she an- 
swered, “ I used to come here once to cry and mourn, 
but that was a weary while ago, bless God ! ” 

“I pluck the daisies as they grow, and take them 
home,” said the old woman after a short silence. “I 
like no flowers so well as these, and haven’t for five- 
and-fifty years. It’s a long time, and I’m getting very 
old!” 

Then growing garrulous upon a theme which was new 
to one listener though it were but a child, she told % her 
how she had wept and moaned and prayed to die herself, 
when this happened ; and how when she first came to 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


191 


that place, a young creature strong in love and grief, she 
had hoped that her heart was breaking as it seemed to 
be. But that time passed by, and although she contin- 
ued to be sad when she came there, still she could bear 
to come, and so went on until it was pain no longer, but 
a solemn pleasure, and a duty she had learned to like. 
And now that five-and-fifty years were gone, she spoke 
of the dead man as if he had been her son or grandson, 
with a kind of pity for his youth, growing out of her own 
old age, and an exalting of his strength and manly 
beauty as compared with her own weakness and decay ; 
and yet she spoke about him as her husband too, and 
thinking of herself in connection with him, as she used 
to be and not as she was now, talked of their meeting in 
another world as if he were dead but yesterday, and she, 
separated from her former self, were thinking of the 
happiness of that comely girl who seemed to have died 
with him. 

The child left her gathering the flowers that grew 
upon the grave, and thoughtfully retraced her steps. 

The old man was by this time up and dressed. Mr. 
Codlin, still doomed to contemplate the harsh realities of 
existence, was packing among his linen the candle-ends 
which had been saved from the previous night’s perform- 
ance ; while his companion received the compliments of 
all the loungers in the stable-yard, who, unable to sepa- 
rate him from the master-mind of Punch, set him down as 
next in importance to that merry outlaw, and loved him 
scarcely less. When he had sufficiently acknowledged 
his popularity he came in to breakfast, at which meal 
they all sat down together. 

“ And where are you going to-day ? ” said the little 
man, addressing himself to Nell. 


192 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“Indeed I hardly know, — we have not determined 
yet,” replied the child. 

“We’re going on to the races,” said the little man. 
u If that’s your way and you like to have us for com- 
pany, let us travel together. If you prefer going alone, 
only say the word, and you’ll find that we shan’t trouble 
y rn.” 

“ We’ll go with you,” said the old man. “ Nell, — 
with them, with them.” 

The child considered for a moment, and reflecting that 
she must shortly beg, and cou-ld scarcely hope to do so at 
a better place than where crowds of rich ladies and gen- 
tlemen were assembled together for purposes of enjoy- 
ment and festivity, determined to accompany these men 
so far. She therefore thanked the little man for his 
offer, and said, glancing timidly towards his friend, that 
if there was no objection to their accompanying them as 
far as the race-town — 

“ Objection ! ” said the little man. “ Now be gracious 
for once, Tommy, and say that you’d rather they went 
with us. I know you would. Be gracious, Tommy.” 

“ Trotters,” said Mr. Codlin, who talked very slowly 
and ate very greedily, as is not uncommon with philoso- 
phers and misanthropes ; “ you’re too free.” 

“ Why, what harm can it do ? ” urged the other. 

“ No harm at all in this particular case, perhaps,” re- 
plied Mr. Codlin ; “ but the principle’s a dangerous one, 
and you’re too free I tell you.” 

“ Well, are they to go with us or not?” 

“ Yes, they are,” said Mr. Codlin ; “ but you might 
have made a favor of it, mightn’t you r ” 

The real name of the little man was Harris, but it. had 
gradually merged into the less euphonious one of Trot- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


193 


ters, which, with the prefatory adjective, Short, had been 
conferred upon him by reason of the small size of his 
legs. Short Trotters, however, being a compound name, 
inconvenient of use in friendly dialogue, the gentleman 
on whom it had been bestowed was known among his 
intimates either as “ Short,” or “ Trotters,” and was sel- 
dom accosted at full length as Short Trotters, except in 
formal conversations and on occasions of ceremony. 

Short, then, or Trotters, as the reader pleases, returned 
unto the remonstrance of his friend Mr. Thomas Codlin, 
a jocose answer calculated to turn aside his discontent ; 
and applying himself with great relish to the cold boiled 
beef, the tea, and bread and butter, strongly impressed 
upon his companions that they should do the like. Mr 
Codlin indeed required no such persuasion, as he had 
already eaten as much as he could possibly carry and was 
now moistening his clay with strong ale, whereof he took 
deep draughts with a silent relish and invited nobody to 
partake — thus again strongly indicating his misanthrop- 
ical turn of mind. 

Breakfast being at length over, Mr. Codlin called the 
bill, and charging the ale to the company generally (a 
practice also savoring of misanthropy) divided the sum- 
total into two fair and equal parts, assigning one moiety 
to himself and friend, and the other to Nelly and her 
grandfather. These being duly discharged and all things 
ready for their departure, they took farewell of the land- 
lord and landlady and resumed their journey. 

And here Mr. Codlin’s false position in society and the 
effect it wrought upon his wounded spirit, were strongly 
Illustrated ; for whereas he had been last night accosted 
by Mr. Punch as “ master ” and had by inference left 
the audience to understand that he maintained that indi 
13 


VOL. I. 


194 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


vidual for Lis own luxurious entertainment and delight 
here he was, now, painfully walking beneath the burden 
of that same Punch’s temple, and bearing it bodily upon 
his shoulders on a sultry day and along a dusty road. 
In place of enlivening his patron with a constant fire of 
wit or the cheerful rattle of his quarter-staff on the head 
of his relations and acquaintance, here was that beaming 
Punch utterly devoid of spine, all slack and drooping in 
a dark box, with his legs doubled up round his neck, and 
not one of his social qualities remaining. 

Mr. Codlin trudged heavily on, exchanging a word or 
two at intervals with Short, and stopping to rest and 
growl occasionally. Short led the way ; with the flat 
box, the private luggage (which was not extensive) tied 
up in a bundle, and a brazen trumpet slung from his 
shoulder-blade. Nell and her grandfather walked next 
him on either hand, and Thomas Codlin brought up the 
rear. 

When they came to any town or village, or even to a 
detached house of good appearance, Short blew a blast 
upon the brazen trumpet and carolled a fragment of a 
song in that hilarious tone common to Punches and their 
consorts. If people hurried to the windows, Mr. Codlin 
pitched the temple, and hastily unfurling the drapery and 
concealing Short therewith, flourished hysterically on the 
Pipes and performed an air. Then the entertainment 
began as soon as might be ; Mr. Codlin having the re- 
sponsibility of deciding on its length and of protracting 
or expediting the time for the hero’s final triumph over 
(he enemy of mankind, according as he judged that 
the after-crop of half-pence would be plentiful or scant. 
When it had been gathered in to the last farthing, he re- 
sumed his load and on they went again. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


195 


Sometimes they played out the toll across a bridge or 
ferry, and once exhibited by particular desire at a turn- 
pike, where, the collector, being drunk in his solitude, 
paid down a shilling to have it to himself. There was 
one small place of rich promise, in which their hopes 
were blighted, for a favorite character in the play having 
gold-lace upon his coat and being a meddling wooden- 
headed fellow was held to be a libel on the beadle, for 
which reason the authorities enforced a quick retreat ; 
but they were generally well received, and seldom left 
a town without a troop of ragged children shouting at 
their heels. 

They made a long day’s journey, despite these inter- 
ruptions, and were yet upon the road when the moon was 
shining in the sky. Short beguiled the time with songs 
and jests, and made the best of everything that hap- 
pened. Mr. Codlin on the other hand cursed his fate, 
and all the hollow things of earth (but Punch especial- 
ly), and limped along with the theatre on his back, a 
prey to the bitterest chagrin. 

They had stopped to rest beneath a finger-post where 
four roads met, and Mr. Codlin in his deep misanthropy 
had let down the drapery and seated himself in the bot- 
tom of the show, invisible to mortal eyes and disdainful 
of the company of his fellow-creatures, when two mon- 
strous shadows were seen stalking towards them from a 
turning in the road by which they had come. The child 
was at first quite terrified by the sight of these gaunt 
giants — for such they looked as they advanced with 
lofty strides beneath the shadow of the trees — but Short, 
*elling her there was nothing to fear, blew a blast upon 
the trumpet which was answered by a cheerful shout. 

* £ It’s Grinder’s lot, a’n’t it ? ” cried Mr. Short in a 
loud key. 


196 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Yes,” replied a couple of shrill voices. 

“ Come on then,” said Short. “ Let’s have a look at 
you. I thought it was you.” 

Thus invited, “ Grinder’s lot ” approached with re- 
doubled speed and soon came up with the little party. 

Mr. Grinder’s company, familiarly termed a lot, con- 
sisted of a young gentleman and a young lady on stilts 
and Mr. Grinder himself, who used his natural legs for 
pedestrian purposes and carried at his back a drum. 
The public costume of the young people was of the 
Highland kind, but the night being damp and cold, the 
young gentleman wore over his kilt a man’s pea-jacket 
reaching to his ankles, and a glazed hat ; the young lady 
too was muffled in an old cloth pelisse and had a handker- 
chief tied about her head. Their Scotch bonnets orna- 
mented with plumes of jet black feathers, Mr. Grinder 
carried on his instrument. 

“ Bound for the races, I see,” said Mr. Grinder com- 
ing up out of breath. “ So are we. How are you 
Short ? ” With that they shook hands in a very friendly 
manner. The young people being too high up for the 
ordinary salutations, saluted Short after their own fash- 
ion. The young gentleman twisted up his right stilt and 
patted him on the shoulder, and the young lady rattled 
her tambourine. 

“ Practice ? ” said Short, pointing to the stilts. 

“ No,” returned Grinder. “ It comes either to walkin’ 
in ’em, or carryin’ of ’em, and they like walkin’ in ’em 
best. It’s werry pleasant for the prospects. Which 
road are you takin’? We go the nighest.” 

“ Why, the fact is,” said Short, “ that we are going the 
longest way, because then we could stop for the night, a 
mile and a half on. But three or four mile gained to- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


197 


night is so many saved to-morrow, and if you keep on, 1 
think our best way is to do the same.” 

“ Where’s your partner ? ” inquired Grinder. 

“ Here he is,” cried Mr. Thomas Codlin, presenting 
his head and face in the proscenium of the stage, and 
exhibiting an expression of countenance not often seen 
there ; “ and he’ll see his partner boiled alive before 
he’ll go on to-night. That’s what he says.” 

“ Well, don’t say such things as them, in a spear which 
is dewoted to something pleasanter,” urged Short. “ Re- 
spect associations, Tommy, even if you do cut up rough.” 

“ Rough or smooth,” said Mr. Codlin, beating his hand 
on the little foot-board, where Punch, when suddenly 
struck with the symmetry of his legs and their capacity 
for silk stockings, is accustomed to exhibit them to pop- 
ular admiration, “ rough or smooth, I won’t go further 
than the mile and a half to-night. I put up at the Jolly 
Sandboys and nowhere else. If you like to come there, 
come there. If you like to go on by yourself, go on by 
yourself, and do without me if you can.” 

So saying, Mr. Codlin disappeared from the scene, 
and immediately presenting himself outside the theatre, 
took it on his shoulders at a jerk, and made off with 
most remarkable agility. 

Any further controversy being now out of the ques- 
tion, Short was fain to part with Mr. Grinder and his 
pupils and to follow his morose companion. After linger- 
ing at the finger-post for a few minutes to see the stilts 
frisking away in the moonlight and the bearer of the 
drum toiling slowly after them, he blew a few notes 
upon the trumpet as a parting salute, and hastened 
with all speed to follow Mr. Codlin. With this view 
he gave his unoccupied hand to Nell, and bidding her 


108 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


be of good cheer as they would soon be at the end 
of their journey for that night, and stimulating the old 
man with a similar assurance, led them at a pretty 
swift pace towards their destination, which he was the 
less unwilling to make for, as the moon was now over- 
cast and the clouds were threatening rain. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


199 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

The Jolly Sandboys was a small road-side inn of 
pretty ancient date, with a sign, representing three 
Sandboys increasing their jollity with as many jugs of 
ale and bags of gold, creaking and swinging on its post 
on the opposite side of the road. As the travellers had 
observed that day many indications of their drawing 
nearer and nearer to the race-town, such as gyps y camps, 
carts laden with gambling booths and their appurtenances, 
itinerant showmen of various kinds, and beggars • and 
trampers of every degree, all wending their way in the 
same direction, Mr. Codlin was fearful of finding the 
accommodations forestalled ; this fear increasing as he 
diminished the distance between himself and the hos- 
telry, he quickened his pace, and notwithstanding the 
burden he had to carry, maintained a round trot until 
he reached the threshold. Here he had the gratifica- 
tion of finding that his fears were without foundation, 
for the landlord was leaning against the door-post look- 
ing lazily at the rain, which had by this time begun 
to descend heavily, and no tinkling of cracked bell, 
nor boisterous shout, nor noisy chorus, gave note of 
company within. 

“ All alone ? ” said Mr. Codlin, putting down his 
burden and wiping his forehead. 

“ All alone as yet,” rejoined the landlord, glancing 


200 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


at the sky, “ but we shall have more company to-night 
I expect. Here one of you boys, carry that show into 
the barn. Make haste in out of the wet, Tom ; when 
it came on to rain, I told ’em to make the fire up, 
and there’s a glorious blaze in the kitchen I can tell 
you.” 

Mr. Codlin followed with a willing mind, and soon 
found that the landlord had not commended his prepa- 
rations without good reason. A mighty fire was blazing 
on the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a 
cheerful sound, which a large iron caldron, bubbling and 
simmering in the heat, lent its pleasant aid to swell. 
There was a deep red ruddy blush upon the room, 
and when the landlord stirred the fire, sending the 
flames skipping and leaping up — when he took off 
the lid of the iron pot and there rushed out a savory 
smell, while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more 
rich, and an unctuous steam came floating out, hanging 
in a delicious mist above their heads — when he did 
this, Mr. Codlin’s heart was touched. He sat down 
in the chimney-corner and smiled. 

Mr. Codlin sat smiling in the chimney-corner, eying 
the landlord as with a roguish look he held the cover 
in his hand, and, feigning that his doing so was 
needful to the welfare of the cookery, suffered the de- 
lightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The 
glow of the fire was upon the landlord’s bald head, and 
upon his twinkling eye, and upon his watering mouth, 
and upon his pimpled face, and upon his round fat 
figure. Mr. Codlin drew his sleeve across his lips, 
and said in a murmuring voice, “ What is it ! ” 

“ It’s a stew of tripe,” said the landlord smacking 
his lips, “ and cow-heel,” smacking them again, “ and 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


201 


bacon,” smacking them once more, “ and steak,” smack- 
ing them for the fourth time, “ and peas, cauliflowers, 
new potatoes, and sparrowgrass, all working up to- 
gether in one delicious gravy.” Having come to the 
climax, he smacked his lips a great many times, and 
taking a long hearty sniff of the fragrance that was 
hovering about, put on the cover again with the air of 
one whose toils on earth were over. 

“ At what time will it be ready ? ” asked Mr. Codlin 
faintly. 

“ It’ll be done to a turn,” said the landlord looking 
up at the clock — and the very clock had a color in 
its fat white face, and looked a clock for Jolly Sand- 
boys to consult — “ it’ll be done to a turn at twenty- 
two minutes before eleven.” 

“ Then,” said Mr. Codlin, “ fetch me a pint of warm 
ale, and don’t let nobody bring into the room even so 
much as a biscuit till the time arrives.” 

Nodding his approval of this decisive and manly 
course of procedure, the landlord retired to draw the 
beer, and presently returning with it, applied himself 
to warm the same in a small tin vessel shaped funnel- 
wise, for the convenience of sticking it far down in the 
fire and getting at the bright places. This was soon 
done, and he handed it over to Mr. Codlin with that 
creamy froth upon the surface which is one of (lie 
happy circumstances attendant on mulled malt. 

Greatly softened by this soothing beverage, Mr. Cod- 
lin now bethought him of his companions, and ac- 
quainted mine host of the Sandboyr that their arrival 
might be shortly looked for. The rain was rattling 
against the windows and pouring down in torrents, 
and such was Mr. Codlin’s extreme amiability of 


202 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


mind, that he more than once expressed his earnest 
hope that they would not be so foolish as to get wet. 

At length they arrived, drenched with the rain and 
presenting a most miserable appearance, notwithstand- 
ing that Short had sheltered the child as well as he 
could under the skirts of his own coat, and they were 
nearly breathless from the haste they had made. But 
their steps were no sooner heard upon the road than 
the landlord, who had been at the outer door anxiously 
watching for their coming, rushed into the kitchen and 
took the cover off. The effect was electrical. They 
all came in with smiling faces though the wet was 
dripping from their clothes upon the floor, and Short’s 
first remark was, “ What a delicious smell ! ” 

It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the 
side of a cheerful fire, and in a bright room. They 
were furnished with slippers and such dry garments as 
the house or their own bundles afforded, and ensconc- 
ing themselves, as Mr. Codlin had already done, in the 
warm chimney-corner, soon forgot their late troubles or 
only remembered them as enhancing the delights of the 
present time. Overpowered by the warmth and com- 
fort and the fatigue they had undergone, Nelly and the 
old man had not long taken their seats here when they 
fell asleep. 

“ Who are they ? ” whispered the landlord. 

Short shook his head, and wished he knew himself. 

“ Don’t you know ? ” asked the host, turning to Mr 
Codlin. 

“ Not I,” he replied. “ They’re no good I suppose.’' 

“ They’re no harm,” said Short. “ Depend upon that. 
[ tell you what — it’s plain that the old man a’n’t in 
his right mind ” — 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


203 


“If you haven’t got anything newer than that to 
gay,” growled Mr. Codlin, glancing at the clock, “ you’d 
better let us fix our minds upon the supper, and not 
disturb us.” 

“ Hear me out, won’t you ? ” retorted his friend. “It’ 
very plain to me, besides, that they’re not used to this 
way of life. Don’t tell me that that handsome child 
has been in the habit of prowling about as she’s done 
these last two or three days. I know better.” 

“ Well, who does tell you she has ? ” growled Mr. Cod- 
lin, again glancing at the clock and from it to the cal- 
dron, “ can’t you think of anything more suitable to 
present circumstances than saying things and then con- 
tradicting ’em ? ” 

* “ I wish somebody would give you your supper,” re- 
turned Short, “ for there’ll be no peace till you’ve got it. 
Have you seen how anxious the old man is to get on — 
always wanting to be furder away — furder away. Have 
you seen that ? ” 

“Ah! what then?” muttered Thomas Codlin. 

“ This, then,” said Short. “ He has given his friends 
the slip. Mind what I say, — he has given his friends 
the slip, and persuaded this delicate young creetur all 
along of her fondness for him to be his guide and trav- 
elling companion — where to, he knows no more than 
the man in the moon. Now I’m not a-going to stand 
that.” 

“ You’re not a-going to stand that ! ” cried Mr. Codlin 
glancing at the clock again and pulling his hair with 
both hands in a kind of frenzy, but whether occasioned 
by his companion’s observation or the tardy pace of 
Time, it was difficult to determine. “ Here’s a world to 
live in ! ” 


204 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


u I,” repeated Short emphatically and slowly, “ am not 
a-going to stand it. I am not a-going to see this fair 
young child a-falling into bad hands, and getting among 
people that she’s no more fit for, than they are to get 
among angels as their ordinary chums. Therefore when 
hey dewelope an intention of parting company from us, 
I shall take measures for detaining of ’em, and restoring 
em to their friends, who I dare say have had their dis- 
eonsolation pasted up on every wall in London by this 
time.” 

“ Short,” said Mr. Codlin, who with his head upon his 
hands and his elbows on his knees had been shaking 
himself impatiently from side to side up to this point, 
and occasionally stamping on the ground, but ,who now 
looked up with eager eyes ; “ it’s possible that there may 
be uncommon good sense in what you’ve said. If there 
is, and there should be a reward, Short, remember that 
we’re partners in everything ! ” 

His companion had only time to nod a brief assent to 
this position, for the child awoke at the instant. They 
had drawn close together during the previous whispering, 
and now hastily separated and were rather awkwardly 
endeavoring to exchange some casual remarks in their 
usual tone, when strange footsteps were heard without, 
and fresh company entered. 

These were no other than four very dismal dogs, who 
came pattering in one after the other, headed by an old 
bandy dog of particularly mournful aspect, who, stopping 
when the last of his followers had got as far as the door, 
erected himself upon his hind legs and looked round at 
his companions, who immediately stood upon their hind 
legs, in a grave and melancholy row. Nor was this the 
only remarkable circumstance about these dogs, for each 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


205 


of them wore a kind of little coat of some gaudy color 
trimmed with tarnished spangles, and one of them had a 
cap upon his head, tied very carefully under his chin, 
which had fallen down upon his nose and completely ob- 
scured one eye ; add to this that the gaudy coats were 
all wet. through and discolored with rain, and that the 
wearers were splashed and dirty, and some idea may be 
formed of the unusual appearance of these new visitors 
to the Jolly Sandboys. 

Neither Short nor the landlord nor Thomas Codlin, 
however, were the least surprised, merely remarking 
that these were Jerry’s dogs and that Jerry could not be 
far behind. So there the dogs stood, patiently winking 
and gaping and looking extremely hard at the boiling 
pot, until Jerry himself appeared, when they all dropped 
down at once and walked about the room in their natural 
manner. This posture, it must be confessed, did not 
much improve their appearance, as their own personal 
tails and their coat-tails — both capital things in their 
way — did not agree together. 

Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall 
black-whiskered man in a velveteen coat, who seemed 
well known to the landlord and his guests, and accosted 
them with great cordiality. Disencumbering himself of 
a barrel-organ which he placed upon a chair, and retain 
ing in his hand a small whip wherewith to awe his com 
pany of comedians, he came up to the fire to dry himself 
and entered into comversation. 

“ Your people don’t usually travel in character, do 
they?” said Short, pointing to the dresses of the dogs 
K It must come expensive if they do ? ” 

“ No,” replied Jerry, u no, it’s not the custom with us. 
But we’ve been playing a little on the road to-day, and 


206 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


we come out with a new wardrobe at the races, so I 
didn’t think it worth while to stop to undress. Down, 
Pedro ! ” 

This was addressed to the dog with the cap on, who 
being a new member of the company and not quite cer- 
tain of his duty, kept his unobscured eye anxiously on 
his master, and was perpetually starting upon his hind 
legs when there was no occasion, and falling down again. 

“ I’ve got a animal here,” said Jerry, putting his hand 
into the capacious pocket of his coat, and diving into one 
corner as if he were feeling for a small orange or an 
apple or some such article, “ a animal here, wot I think 
you know something of, Short ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Short, “ let’s have a look at him.” 

“ Here he is,” said Jerry, producing a little terrier 
from his pocket. “ He was once a Toby of yours, warn’t 
he?” 

In some versions of the great drama of Punch there 
is a small dog — a modern innovation — supposed to be 
the private property of that gentleman, whose name is 
always Toby. This Toby has been stolen in youth from 
another gentleman, and fraudulently sold to the confiding 
hero, who having no guile himself has no suspicion that 
it lurks in others ; but Toby, entertaining a grateful rec- 
ollection of his old master, and scorning to attach him- 
self to any new patrons, not only refuses to smoke a 
pipe at the bidding of Punch, but to mark his old fidelity 
more strongly, seizes him by the nose and wrings the 
same with violence, at which instance of canine attach- 
ment the spectators are deeply affected. This was the 
character which the little terrier in question had once 
sustained ; if there had been any doubt upon the subject 
he would speedily have resolved it by his conduct ; for 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


207 


not only did he, on seeing Short, give the strongest 
tokens of recognition, but catching sight of the Hat-box 
he barked so furiously at the pasteboard nose which he 
knew was inside, that his master was obliged to gather 
him up and put him into his pocket again, to the great 
elief of the whole company. 

The landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth, 
in which process Mr. Codlin obligingly assisted by set- 
ting forth his own knife and fork in the most convenient 
place and establishing himself behind them. When 
everything was ready, the landlord took off the cover 
for the last time, and then indeed there burst forth such a 
goodly promise of supper, that if he had offered to put 
it on again or had hinted at postponement, he would cer- 
tainly have been sacrificed on his own hearth. 

However, he did nothing of the kind, but instead 
thereof assisted a stout servant-girl in turning the con- 
tents of the caldron into a large tureen ; a proceeding 
which the dogs, proof against various hot splashes which 
fell upon their noses, watched with terrible eagerness. 
At length the dish was lifted on the table, and mugs of 
ale having been previously set round, little Nell ven- 
tured to say grace, and supper began. 

At this juncture the poor dogs were standing on their 
hind legs quite surprisingly ; the child, having pity on 
them, was about to cast some morsels of food to them 
before she tasted it herself, hungry though she was, when 
their master interposed. 

“ No my dear, no, not an atom from anybody’s hand 
but mine if you please. That dog,” said Jerry, pointing 
out the old leader of the troop, and speaking in a terri- 
ble voice, “ lost a half-penny to-day. He goes without his 
supper.” 


208 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


The unfortunate creature dropped upon his fore-legs 
directly, wagged his tail, and looked imploringly at his 
master. 

“ You must be more careful, sir,” said Jerry, walking 
coolly to the chair where he had placed the organ, and 
setting the stop. “ Come here. Now sir, you play away 
at that, while we have supper, and leave off if you 
dare ! ” 

The dog immediately began to grind most mournful 
music. His master having shown him the whip resumed 
his seat and called up the others, who, at his directions, 
formed in a row, standing upright as a file of soldiers. 

“ Now gentlemen,” said Jerry, looking at them atten- 
tively. ' 4 The dog whose name’s called, eats. The dogs 
whose names a’n’t called, keep quiet. Carlo ! ” 

The lucky individual whose name was called, snapped 
up the morsel thrown towards him, but none of the oth- 
ers moved a muscle. In this manner they were fed at 
the discretion of their master. Meanwhile the dog in 
disgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes in quick 
time, sometimes in slow, but never leaving off for an in- 
stant. When the knives and forks rattled very much, or 
any of his fellows got an unusually large piece of fat, 
he accompanied the music with a short howl, but he im- 
mediately checked it on his master looking round, and 
applied himself with increased diligence to the Old Hun- 
dredth. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


209 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Sr pper was not yet over, when there arrived at the 
Jolly Sandboys two more travellers bound for the same 
haven as the rest, who had been walking in the rain for 
some hours, and came in shining and heavy with water. 
One of these was the proprietor of a giant, and a little 
lady without legs or arms, who had jogged forward in a 
van ; the other, a silent gentleman who earned his living 
by showing tricks upon the cards, and who had rather 
deranged the natural expression of his countenance by 
putting small leaden lozenges into his eyes and bringing 
them out at his mouth, wJiich was one of his professional 
accomplishments. The name of the first of these new- 
comers was Vuffin ; the other, probably as a pleasant 
satire upon his ugliness, was called Sweet William. To 
render them as comfortable as he could, the landlord be- 
stirred himself nimbly, and in a very short time both 
gentlemen were perfectly at their ease. 

“ How’s the Giant ? ” said Short, when they all sat 
smoking round the fire. 

u Rather weak upon his legs,” returned Mr. Vuffin. 
“ I begin to be afraid he’s going at the knees.” 

“ That’s a bad look-out,” said Short. 

“ Ay ! Bad indeed,” replied Mr. Vuffin, contemplat- 
ing the fire with a sigh. “ Once get a giant shaky on 
his legs, and the public care no more about him than they 
do for a dead cabbage-stalk.” 

VOL. I. 14 


210 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ What becomes of the old giants ? ” said Short, turn 
ing to him again after a little reflection. 

u They’re usually kept in carawans to wait upon the 
dwarfs,” said Mr. Yuffin. 

“ The maintaining of ’em must come expensive, when 
they can’t be shown, eh ? ” remarked Short, eying him 
doubtfully. 

“ It’s better that, than letting ’em go upon the parish 
or about the streets,” said Mr. Yuffin. “ Once make a 
giant common and giants will never draw again. Look 
at wooden legs. If there was only one man with a 
wooden leg what a property he’d be ! ” 

“ So he would ! ” observed the landlord and Short, both 
together. “ That’s very true.” 

“ Instead of which,” pursued Mr. Yuffin, “ if you was 
to advertise Shakspeare played entirely by wooden legs, 
it’s my belief you wouldn’t draw a sixpence.” 

“ I don’t suppose you would,” said Short. And the 
landlord said so too. 

“This shows, you see,” said Mr. Yuffin, waving his 
pipe with an argumentative air, “ this shows the policy of 
keeping the used-up giants still in the carawans, where 
they get food and lodging for nothing, all their lives, and 
in general very glad they are to stop there. There was 
one giant — a black ’un — as left his carawan some year 
ago and took to carrying coach-bills about London, mak- 
*ng himself as cheap as crossing-sweepers. He died. 1 
make no insinuation against anybody in particular,” said 
Mr. Yuffin looking solemnly round, “but he was ruining 
the trade ; — and he died.” 

The landlord drew his breath hard, a:.d looked at the 
owner of the dogs, who nodded and said gruffly that he 
remembered. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


211 


“ I know you do, Jerry,” said Mr. Vuffin with pro- 
found meaning. “ I know you remember it, Jerry, and 
the universal opinion was, that it served him right. 
Why, I remember the time when old Maunders as 
had three-and-twenty wans — I remember the time when 
old Maunders had in his cottage in Spa Fields in th 
winter-time when the season was over, eight male and 
female dwarfs setting down to dinner every day, who was 
waited on by eight old giants in green coats, red smalls, 
blue cotton stockings, and high-lows ; and there was one 
dwarf as had grown elderly and wicious who whenever 
his giant wasn’t quick enough to please him, used to stick 
pins in his legs, not being able to reach up any higher. 
I know that’s a fact, for Maunders told it me him- 
self.” 

“ What about the dwarfs, when they get old ? ” in- 
quired the landlord. 

“ The older a dwarf is, the better worth he is,” re- 
turned Mr. Vuffin ; a a gray-headed dwarf, well wrinkled, 
is beyond all suspicion. But a giant weak in the legs 
and not standing upright ! — keep him in the carawan, 
but never show him, never show him, for any persuasion 
that can be offered.” 

While Mr. Vuffin and his two friends smoked their 
pipes and beguiled the time with such conversation as 
this, the silent gentleman sat in a warm corner, swallow- 
ing, or seeming to swallow, sixpenny worth of half-pence 
for practice, balancing a feather upon his nose, and re 
hearsing other feats of dexterity of that kind, without 
paying any regard whatever to the company, who in 
their turn left him utterly unnoticed. At length the 
weary child prevailed upon her grandfather to retire, 
and they withdrew, leaving the company yet seated 


212 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


round the fire, and the dogs fast asleep at a humble dis- 
tance. 

After bidding the old man good-night, Nell retired to 
her poor garret, but had scarcely closed the door, when it 
was gently tapped at. She opened it directly, and was a 
little startled by the sight of Mr. Thomas Codlin, whom 
she had left, to all appearance, fast asleep down-stairs. 

“ What is the matter ? ” said the child. 

“ Nothing’s the matter, my dear,” returned her visitor. 
“ I’m your friend. Perhaps you haven’t thought so, but 
it’s me that’s your friend — not him.” 

“ Not who ? ” the child inquired. 

“ Short, my dear. I tell you what,” said Codlin, “ for 
all his having a kind of way with him that you’d be very 
apt to like, I’m the real, open-hearted man. I mayn’t 
look it, but I am indeed.” 

The child began to be alarmed, considering that the 
ale had taken effect upon Mr. Codlin, and that this com- 
mendation of himself was the consequence. 

“ Short’s very well and seems kind,” resumed the mis- 
anthrope, “ but he overdoes it. Now I don’t.” 

Certainly if there were any fault in Mr. Codlin’s 
usual deportment, it was that he rather underdid his 
kindness to those about him, than overdid it. But the 
child was puzzled and could not tell what to say. 

“ Take my advice,” said Codlin ; “ don’t ask me why, 
but take it. As long as you travel with us, keep as near 
me as you can. Don’t offer to leave us — not on any 
account — but always stick to me and say that I’m your 
friend. Will you bear that in mind, my dear, and always 
say that it was me that was your friend ? ” 

“ Say so where, — and when?” inquired the child 
innocently. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


21 a 


“ 0, nowhere in particular,” replied Codlin, a little put 
out as it seemed by the question ; u I’m only anxious that 
you should think me so, and do me justice. You can’t 
think what an interest I have in you. Why didn’t you 
tell me your little history — that about you and the poor 
old gentleman ? I’m the best adviser that ever was, and 
so interested in you — so much more interested than 
Short. I think they’re breaking up down-stairs; you 
needn’t tell Short, you know, that we’ve had this little 
talk together. God bless you. Recollect the friend. 
Codlin’s the friend, not Short. Short’s very well as far 
as he goes, but the real friend is Codlin — not Short.” 

Eking out these professions with a number of benevo- 
lent and protecting looks and great fervor of manner, 
Thomas Codlin stole away on tiptoe, leaving the child in 
a state of extreme surprise. She was still ruminating 
upon his curious behavior, when the floor of the crazy 
stairs and landing cracked beneath the tread of the other 
travellers, who were passing to their beds. When they 
had all passed, and the sound of their footsteps had died 
away, one of them returned, and after a little hesitation 
and rustling in the passage, as if he were doubtful what 
door to knock at, knocked at hers. 

“ Yes ? ” said the child from within. 

“ It’s me — Short ” — a voice called through the key- 
hole. “ I only wanted to say that we must be off early 
to-morrow morning my dear, because unless we get the 
start of the dogs and the conjurer, the villages won’t be 
worth a penny. You’ll be sure to be stirring early and 
go with us ? I’ll call you.” 

The child answered in the affirmative, and returning 
his “ good-night ” heard him creep away. She felt some 
uneasiness at the anxiety of these men, increased by the 


214 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


recollection of their whispering together down-stairs and 
their slight confusion when she awoke, nor was she quite 
free from a misgiving that they were not the fittest com- 
panions she could have stumbled on. Her uneasiness, 
however, was nothing, weighed against her fatigue ; and 
she soon forgot it in sleep. 

Very early next morning, Short fulfilled his promise, 
and knocking softly at her door entreated that she would 
get up directly, as the proprietor of the dogs was still 
snoring, and if they lost no time they might get a good 
deal in advance both of him and the conjurer, who was 
talking in his sleep, and from what he could be heard to 
say, appeared to be balancing a donkey in his dreams. 
She started from her bed without delay, and roused the 
old man with so much expedition that they were both 
ready as soon as Short himself, to that gentleman’s un- 
speakable gratification and relief. 

After a very unceremonious and scrambling breakfast 
of which the staple commodities were bacon and bread, 
and beer, they took leave of the landlord and issued from 
the door of the Jolly Sandboys. The morning was fine 
and warm, the ground cool to the feet after the late rain, 
the hedges gayer and more green, the air clear, and 
everything fresh and healthful. Surrounded by these 
influences, they walked on pleasantly enough. 

They had not gone very far, when the child was again 
struck by the altered behavior of Mr. Thomas Codlin, 
who instead of plodding on sulkily by himself as he had 
theretofore done, kept close to her, and when he had an 
opportunity of looking at her unseen by his companion, 
varned her by certain wry faces and jerks of the head 
not to put any trust in Short, but to reserve all confi- 
dences for Codlin. Neither did he confine himself to 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


215 


looks and gestures, for when she and her grandfathei 
were walking on beside the aforesaid Short, and that 
little man was talking with his accustomed cheerfulness 
on a variety of indifferent subjects, Thomas Codlin tes- 
tified his jealousy and distrust by following close at her 
heels, and occasionally admonishing her ankles with the 
legs of the theatre in a very abrupt and painful manner. 

All these proceedings naturally made the child more 
watchful and suspicious, and she soon observed that 
whenever they halted to perform outside a village ale- 
house or other place, Mr. Codlin while he went through 
his share of the entertainments kept his eye steadily 
upon her and the old man, or with a show of great 
friendship and consideration invited the latter to lean 
upon his arm, and so held him tight until the represen- 
tation was over and they again went forward. Even 
Short seemed to change in this respect, and to mingle 
with his good-nature something of a desire to keep them 
in safe custody. This increased the child’s misgivings, 
and made her yet more anxious and uneasy. 

Meanwhile they were drawing near the town where 
the races were to begin next day; for, from passing 
numerous groups of gypsies and trampers on the road, 
wending their way towards it, and straggling out from 
every by-way and cross-country lane, they gradually fell 
into a stream of people, some walking by the side of 
covered carts, others with horses, others with donkeys, 
others toiling on with heavy loads upon their backs, but 
all tending to the same point. The public-houses by the 
way-side, from being empty and noiseless as those in 
';he remoter parts had been, now sent out boisterous 
shouts and clouds of smoke ; and, from the misty win- 
lows, clusters of broad red faces looked down upon the 


216 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


road. On every piece of waste or common ground, 
some small gambler drove his noisy trade, and bellowed 
to the idle passers-by to stop and try their chance ; 
the crowd grew thicker and more noisy ; gilt ginger- 
bread in blanket-stalls exposed its glories to the dust; 
and often a four-horse carriage, dashing by, obscured 
all objects in the gritty cloud it raised, and left them, 
stunned and blinded, far behind. 

It was dark before they reached the town itself, and 
long indeed the few last miles had been. Here all was 
tumult and confusion ; the streets were filled with throngs 
of people — many strangers were there, it seemed, by 
the looks they cast about — the church-bells rang * out 
their noisy peals, and flags streamed from windows and 
house-tops. In the large inn-yards waiters flitted to and 
fro and ran against each other, horses clattered on the 
uneven stones, carriage steps fell rattling down, and 
sickening smells from many dinners came in a heavy 
lukewarm breath upon the sense. In the smaller pub- 
lic-houses, fiddles with all their might and main were 
squeaking out the tune to staggering feet ; drunken men, 
oblivious of the burden of their song, joined in a sense- 
less howl, which drowned the tinkling of the feeble bell 
and made them savage for their drink ; . vagabond groups 
assembled round the doors to see the stroller woman 
dance, and add their uproar to the shrill flageolet and 
deafening drum. 

Through this delirious scene, the child, frightened and 
repelled by all she saw, led on her bewildered charge, 
clinging close to her conductor, and trembling lest in 
the press she should be separated from him and left to 
find her way alone. Quickening their steps to get clear 
»f all the roar and riot, they at length passed through the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


217 


town, and made for the race-course, which was upon an 
open heath, situated on an eminence, a full mile distant 
from its farthest bounds. 

Although there were many people here, none of the 
best favored or best clad, busily erecting tents and 
driving stakes into the ground, and hurrying to and fro 
with dusty feet and many a grumbled oath — although 
there were tired children cradled on heaps of straw 
between the wheels of carts, crying themselves to sleep 
— and poor lean horses and donkeys just turned loose, 
grazing among the men and women, and pots and ket- 
tles, and half-lighted fires, and ends of candles flaring 
and wasting in the air — for all this, the child felt it an 
escape from the town, and drew her breath more freely. 
After a scanty supper, the purchase of which reduced 
her little stock so low, that she had only a few half- 
pence with which to buy a breakfast on the morrow, 
she and the old man lay down to rest in a corner of a 
tent, and slept, despite the busy preparations that were 
going on around them all night long. 

And now they had come to the time when they must 
beg their bread. Soon after sunrise in the morning, she 
stole out from the tent, and rambling into some fields at 
a short distance, plucked a few wild roses and such 
humble flowers, purposing to make them into little nose- 
gays and offer them to the ladies in the carriages when 
the company arrived. Her thoughts were not idle while 
she was thus employed ; when she returned and was 
seated beside the old man in one corner of the tent, tying 
her flowers together, while the two men lay dozing in 
another corner, she plucked him by the sleeve, and 
slightly glancing towards them, said in a low voice — 

“ Grandfather, don’t look at those I talk of, and don’t 


218 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Beem as if I spoke of anything but what I am about. 
What was that, you told me before we left the old 
house ? That if they knew what we were going to do, 
they would say that you were mad, and part us ? ” 

The old man turned to her with an aspect of wild 
terror ; but she checked him by a look, and bidding him 
hold some flowers, while she tied them up, and so bring- 
ing her lips closer to his ear, said — 

I know that was what you told me. You needn’t 
speak, dear. I recollect it very well. It was not likely 
that I should forget it. Grandfather, these men suspect 
that we have secretly left our friends, and mean to carry 
us before some gentleman and have us taken care of and 
sent back. If you let your hand tremble so, we can never 
get away from them, but if you’re only quiet now, we 
shall do so, easily.” 

“ How ?” muttered the old man. “ Dear Nelly, how? 
They will shut me up in a stone room, dark and cold, and 
chain me up to the wall, Nell — flog me with whips, and 
never let me see thee more ! ” 

“ You’re trembling again,” said the child. “ Keep 
close to me all day. Never mind them, don’t look at 
them, but me. I shall find a time when we can steal 
away. When I do, mind you come with me, and do not 
stop or speak a word. Hush ! That’s all.” 

“ Halloa ! what are you up to, my dear ? ” said Mr. 
Codlin, raising his head, and yawning. Then observing 
that his companion was fast asleep, he added in an 
earnest whisper, “ Codlin’s the friend, remember — not 
Short.” 

“ Making some nosegays,” the child replied ; “I am 
going to try and sell some, these three days of the races. 
Will you have one — as a present I mean ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


219 


Mr. Codlin would have risen to receive it, but the 
child hurried towards him and placed it in his hand: 
He stuck it in his button-hole with an air of ineffable 
complacency for a misanthrope, and leering exultingly 
at the unconscious Short, muttered, as he laid himself 
down again, “ Tom Codlin’s the friend, by G — ! ” 

As the morning wore on, the tents assumed a gayer 
and more brilliant appearance, and long lines of car- 
riages came rolling softly on the turf. Men who had 
lounged about all night in smock-frocks and leather 
leggings, came out in silken vests and hats and plumes, 
as jugglers or mountebanks ; or in gorgeous liveries as 
soft-spoken servants at gambling booths ; or in sturdy 
yeomen dress as decoys at unlawful games. Black-eyed 
gypsy girls, hooded in showy handkerchiefs, sallied forth 
to tell fortunes, and pale slender women with consump- 
tive faces lingered upon the footsteps of ventriloquists 
and conjurers, and counted the sixpences with anxious 
eyes long before they were gained. As many of the 
children as could be kept within bounds, were stowed 
away, with all the other signs of dirt and poverty 
among the donkeys, carts, and horses ; and as many as 
could not be thus disposed of ran in and out in all 
intricate spots, crept between people’s legs and carriage 
wheels, and came forth unharmed from under horses’ 
hoofs. The dancing-dogs, the stilts, the little lady and 
the tall man, and all the other attractions, with organs 
out of number and bands innumerable, emerged from 
the holes and corners in which they had passed the 
night, and flourished boldly in the sun. 

Along the uncleared course, Short led his party, sound- 
ing the brazen trumpet and revelling in the voice of 
Punch ; and at his heels went Thomas Codlin, bearing 


220 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the show as usual, and keeping his eye on Nelly and her 
grandfather, as they rather lingered in the rear. The 
child bore upon her arm the little basket with her flow- 
ers, and sometimes stopped, with timid and modest looks, 
to offer them at some gay carriage ; but alas ! there were 
many bolder beggars there, gypsies who promised hus* 
bands, and other adepts in their trade, and although 
6ome ladies smiled gently as they shook their heads, 
and others cried to the gentlemen beside them “ See, 
what a pretty face ! ” they let the pretty face pass on, 
and never thought that it looked tired or hungry. 

There was but one lady who seemed to understand 
the child, and she was one who sat alone in a handsome 
carriage, while two young men in dashing clothes, who 
had just dismounted from it, talked and laughed loudly 
at a little distance, appearing to forget her, quite. There 
were many ladies all around, but they turned their backs, 
or looked another way, or at the two young men (not un- 
favorably at them), and left her to herself. She motioned 
away a gypsy-woman urgent to tell her fortune, saying 
that it was told already and had been for some years, 
but called the child towards her, and taking her flowers 
put money into her trembling hand, and bade her go 
home and keep at home for God’s sake. 

Many a time they went up and down those long long 
lines, seeing everything but the horses and the race ; 
when the bell rung to clear the course, going back to 
rest among the carts and donkeys, and not coming out 
again until the heat was over. Many a time, too, was 
Punch displayed in the full zenith of his humor, but all 
this while the eye of Thomas Codlin was upon them, 
and to escape without notice was impracticable. 

At length, late in the day, Mr. Codlin pitched the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


221 


6how in a convenient spot, and the spectators were sooi 
in the very triumph of the scene. The child, sitting 
down with the old man close behind it, had been think- 
ing how strange it was that horses who were such fine 
honest creatures should seem to make vagabonds of all 
the men they drew about them, when a loud laugh at 
some extemporaneous witticism of Mr. Short’s, having 
allusion to the circumstances of the day, roused her from 
her meditation and caused her to look around. 

If they were ever to get away unseen, that was the 
very moment. Short was plying the quarter-staves vig- 
orously and knocking the characters in the fury of the 
combat against the sides of the show, the people were 
looking on with laughing faces, and Mr. Codlin had re- 
laxed into a grim smile as his roving eye detected hands 
going into waistcoat-pockets and groping secretly for six- 
pences. If they were ever to get away unseen, that was 
the very moment. They seized it, and fled. 

They made a path through booths and carriages and 
throngs of people, and never once stopped to look be- 
hind. The bell was ringing and the course was cleared 
by the time they reached the ropes, but they dashed 
across it insensible to the shouts and screeching that 
assailed them for breaking in upon its sanctity, and 
creeping under the brow of the hill at a quick pace, 
made for the open fields. 


222 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XX. 

Day after day as he bent his steps homeward, return 
ing from some new effort to procure employment, Kit 
raised his eyes to the window of the little room he had 
so much commended to the child, and hoped to see some 
indication of her presence. His own earnest wish, coup- 
led with the assurance he had received from Quilp, filled 
him with the belief that she would yet arrive to claim 
the humble shelter he had offered, and from the death 
of each day’s hope, another hope sprung up to live to- 
morrow. 

“ I think they must certainly come to-morrow, eh, 
mother ? ” said Kit, laying aside his hat with a weary 
air and sighing as he spoke. “ They have been gone a 
week. They surely couldn’t stop away more than a 
week, could they now ? ” 

The mother shook her head, and reminded him how 
often he had been disappointed already. 

“ For the matter of that,” said Kit, “ you speak true 
and sensible enough, as you always do, mother. Still, I 
do consider that a week is quite long enough for ’em to 
be rambling about ; don’t you say so ? ” 

“ Quite long enough, Kit, longer than enough, but 
they may not come back for all that.” 

Kit was for a moment disposed to be vexed by this 
contradiction, and not the less so from having anticipated 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


223 


it in his own mind and knowing how just it was. But 
the impulse was only momentary, and the vexed look 
became a kind one before it had crossed the room. 

“ Then what do you think, mother, has become of ’em ? 
You don’t think they’ve gone to sea, anyhow ? ” 

“ Not gone for sailors, certainly,” returned the mother 
with a smile. “ But I can’t help thinking that they have 
gone to some foreign country.” 

“ I say,” cried Kit with a rueful face, “ don’t talk like 
that, mother.” 

“ I am afraid they have, and that’s the truth,” she 
said. “ It’s the talk of all the neighbors, and there are 
some even that know of their having been seen on boarS 
ship, and can tell you the name of the place they’ve 
gone to, which is more than I can, my dear, for it’s a 
very hard one.” 

“ I don’t believe it,” said Kit. “ Not a word of it. 
A set of idle chatterboxes, how should they know ! ” 

“ They may be wrong of course,” returned the mother. 
“ I can’t tell about that, though I don’t think it’s at all 
unlikely that they’re in the right, for the talk is that the 
old gentleman had put by a little money that nobody 
knew of, not even that ugly little man you talk to me 
about — what’s his name — Quilp ; and that he and Miss 
Nell have gone to live abroad where it can’t be taken 
from them, and they will never be disturbed. That 
don’t seem very far out of the way now, do it ? ” 

Kit scratched his head mournfully, in reluctant ad- 
mission that it did not, and clambering up to the old 
nail took down the cage and set himself to clean it and 
to feed the bird. His thoughts reverting from this oc- 
cupation to the little old gentleman who had given him 
the shilling, he suddenly recollected that that was the 


224 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


very day — nay, nearly the very hour — at which the 
little old gentleman had said he should be at the No- 
tary’s house again. He no sooner remembered this, 
than he hung up the cage with great precipitation, and 
hastily explaining the nature of his errand, went off at 
ull speed to the appointed place. 

It was some two minutes after the time when he 
reached the spot, which was a considerable distance 
from his home, but by great good luck the little old 
gentleman had not yet arrived ; at least there was no 
pony-chaise to be seen, and it was not likely that he had 
come and gone again in so short a space. Greatly re- 
lieved to find that he was not too late, Kit leant against 
a lamp-post to take breath, and waited the advent of the 
pony and his charge. 

Sure enough, before long the pony came trotting 
round the corner of the street, looking as obstinate as 
pony might, and picking his steps as if he were spying 
about for the cleanest places, and would by no means 
dirty his feet or hurry himself inconveniently. Behind 
the pony sat the little old gentleman, and by the old gen- 
tleman’s side sat the little old lady, carrying just such a 
nosegay as she had brought before. 

The old gentleman, the old lady, the pony, and the 
chaise, came up the street in perfect unanimity, until 
they arrived within some half a dozen doors of the 
Notary’s house, when the pony, deceived by a brass 
plate beneath a tailor’s knocker, came to a halt, and 
maintained by a sturdy silence that that was the house 
they wanted. 

“Now, sir, will you have the goodness to go on 
this is not the place,” said the old gentleman. 

The pony looked with great attention into a fire- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


225 


ping which was near him, and appeared to be quite 
absorbed in contemplating it. 

“ Oh dear, such a naughty Whisker ! ” cried the old 
lady. 44 After being so good too, and coming along so 
well ! I am quite ashamed of him. I don’t know what 
we are to do with him, I really don’t.” 

The pony having thoroughly satisfied himself as to 
the nature and properties of the fire-plug, looked into 
the air after his old enemies the flies, and as there 
happened to be one of them tickling his ear at that 
moment he shook his head and whisked his tail, after 
which he appeared full of thought but quite comfort- 
able and collected. The old gentleman having ex- 
hausted his powers of persuasion, alighted to lead him ; 
whereupon the pony, perhaps because he held this to be 
a sufficient concession, perhaps because he happened to 
catch sight of the other brass plate, or perhaps because 
he was in a spiteful humor, darted off with the old 
lady and stopped at the right house, leaving the old 
gentleman to come panting on behind. 

It was then that Kit presented himself at the pony’s 
head, and touched his hat with a smile. 

44 Why, bless me,” cried the old gentleman, 44 the lad 
is here ! My dear, do you see ? ” 

44 I said I’d be here, sir,” said Kit, patting Whisker’s 
neck. 44 1 hope you’ve had a pleasant ride, sir. He’s 
a very nice little pony.” 

44 My dear,” said the old gentleman. 44 This is an 
uncommon lad ; a good lad, I’m sure.” 

44 I’m sure he is,” rejoined the old lady. 44 A very 
good lad, and I am sure he is a good son.” 

Kit acknowledged these expressions of confidence by 
touching his hat again and blushing very much. The 
VOL. i. 15 


226 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


old gentleman then handed the old lady out, and after 
looking at him with an approving smile, they went into 
the house — talking about him as they went, Kit could 
not help feeling. Presently Mr. Witherden, smelling 
very hard at the nosegay, came to the window and 
looked at him, and after that Mr. Abel came and 
looked at him, and after that the old gentleman and 
lady came and looked at him again, and after that 
they all came and looked at him together, which Kit, 
feeling very much embarrassed by, made a pretence of 
not observing. Therefore he patted the pony more and 
more ; and this liberty the pony most handsomely per- 
mitted. 

The faces had not disappeared from the window many 
moments, when Mr. Chuckster in his official coat, and 
with his hat hanging on his head just as it happened 
to fall from its peg, appeared upon the pavement, and 
telling him he was wanted inside, bade him go in and 
he would mind the chaise the while. In giving him 
this direction Mr. Chuckster remarked that he wished 
that he might be blessed if he could make out whether 
he (Kit) was “ precious raw ” or 44 precious deep,” but 
intimated by a distrustful shake of the head that he 
inclined to the latter opinion. 

Kit entered the office in a great tremor, for he was 
not used to going among strange ladies and gentlemen, 
and the tin boxes and bundles of dusty papers had in 
his eyes an awful and venerable air. Mr. Witherden 
too was a bustling gentleman who talked loud and 
fast, and all eyes were upon him, and he was very 
shabby. 

44 Well boy,” said Mr. Witherden, 44 you came to 
work out that shilling ; — not to get another, hey ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


227 


“ No indeed, sir,” replied Kit, taking courage to look 
Dp. “I never thought of such a thing.” 

“ Father alive ? ” said the Notary. 

“ Dead sir.” 

“ Mother ? ” 

“Yes sir.” 

“ Married again — eh ? ” 

Kit made answer, not without some indignation, that 
she was a widow with three children, and that as to her 
marrying again, if the gentleman knew her he wouldn’t 
think of such a thing. At this reply Mr. Witherden 
buried his nose in the flowers again, and whispered be- 
hind the nosegay to the old gentleman that he believed 
the lad was as honest a lad as need be. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Garland when they had made some 
further inquiries of him, “ I am not going to give you 
anything ” — 

“Thank you, sir,” Kit replied; and quite seriously 
too, for this announcement seemed to free him from the 
suspicion which the Notary had hinted. 

— “But,” resumed the old gentleman, “perhaps I 
may want to know something more about you, so tell 
me where you live, and I’ll put it down in my pocket- 
book.” 

Kit told him, and the old gentleman wrote down the 
address with his pencil. He had scarcely done so, when 
there was a great uproar in the street, and the old lady 
hurrying to the window cried that Whisker had run 
away, upon which Kit darted out to the rescue, and the 
others followed. 

It seemed that Mr. Chuckster had been standing 
with his hands in his pockets looking carelessly at the 
pony, and occasionally insulting him with such admoni- 


228 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


tions as “ Stand still,” — “ Be quiet,” — “ Woa-a-a,” and 
the like, which by a pony of spirit cannot be borne. 
Consequently, the pony being deterred by no considera- 
tions of duty or obedience, and not having before him 
the slightest fear of the human eye, had at lengtl 
started off, and was at that moment rattling down th 
street. — Mr. Chuckster, with his hat off and a pen 
behind his ear, hanging on in the rear of the chaise, 
and making futile attempts to draw it the other way, 
to the unspeakable admiration of all beholders. Even 
in running away, however, Whisker was perverse, for 
he had not gone very far when he suddenly stopped, 
and before assistance could be rendered, commenced 
backing at nearly as quick a pace as he had gone 
forward. By these means Mr. Chuckster was pushed 
and hustled to the office again, in a most inglorious 
manner, and arrived in a state of great exhaustion 
and discomfiture. 

The old lady then stepped into her seat, and Mr. 
Abel (whom they had come to fetch) into his. The 
old gentleman, after reasoning with the pony on the 
extreme impropriety of his conduct, and making the 
best amends in his power to Mr. Chuckster, took his 
place also, and they drove away, waving a farewell to 
the Notary and his clerk, and more than once turning 
to nod kindly to Kit as he watched them from the 
road. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


229 


CHAPTER XXI. 

Kit turned away and very soon forgot tlie pony, 
and the chaise, and the little old lady, and the little 
old gentleman, and the little young gentleman to boot, 
in thinking what could have become of his late master 
and his lovely grandchild, who were the fountain-head 
of all his meditations. Still casting about for some 
plausible means of accounting for their non-appearance, 
and of persuading himself that they must soon return, 
be bent his steps towards home, intending to finish the 
task which the sudden recollection of his contract had 
interrupted, and then to sally forth once more to seek 
his fortune for the day. 

When he came to the corner of the court in which 
he lived, lo and behold there was the pony again ! 
Yes, there he was, looking more obstinate than ever; 
and, alone in the chaise, keeping a steady watch upon 
his every wink, sat Mr. Abel, who, lifting up his eyes 
by chance and seeing Kit pass by, nodded to him as 
though he would have nodded his head off. 

Kit wondered to see the pony again, so near his 
own home too, but it never occurred to him for what 
purpose the pony might have come there, or where 
the old lady and the old gentleman had gone, until he 
lifted the latch of the door, and walking in, found them 
ieated in the room in conversation with his mother, at 


230 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


which unexpected sight he pulled off his hat and made 
his best bow in some confusion. 

“ We are here before you, you see, Christopher,’’ 
said Mr. Garland smiling. 

“ Yes, sir,” said Kit ; and as he said it, he looked 
towards his mother for an explanation of the visit. 

“ The gentleman’s been kind enough, my dear,” said 
she, in reply to this mute interrogation, “ to ask me 
whether you were in a good place, or in any place at 
all, and when I told him no, you were not in any, he 
was so good as to say that” — 

“ That we wanted a good lad in our house,” said 
the old gentleman and the old lady both together, 
u and that perhaps we might think of it, if we found 
everything as we would wish it to be.” 

As this thinking of it, plainly meant the thinking of 
engaging Kit, he immediately partook of his mother’s 
anxiety and fell into a great flutter ; for the little old 
couple were very methodical and cautious, and asked so 
many questions that he began to be afraid there was no 
chance of his success. 

“ You see, my good woman,” said Mrs. Garland to 
Kit’s mother, “ that it’s necessary to be very careful and 
particular in such a matter as this, for we’re only three 
in family, and are very quiet regular folks, and it would 
be a sad thing if we made any kind of mistake, and 
found things different from what we hoped and ex- 
pected.” 

To this, Kit’s mother replied, that certainly it was 
quite true, and quite right, and quite proper, and Heaven 
*brbid that she should shrink, or have cause to shrink, 
from any inquiry into her character or that of her son, 
who was a very good son though she was his mother, in 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


231 


which respect, she was bold to say, he took after his 
father, who was not only a good son to his mother, but 
the best of husbands and the best of fathers besides, 
which Kit could and would corroborate she knew, and so 
would little Jacob and the baby likewise if they were 
old enough, which unfortunately they were not, though 
as they didn’t know what a loss they had had, perhaps it 
was a great deal better that they should be as young as 
they were ; and so Kit’s mother wound up a long story 
by wiping her eyes with her apron, and patting little 
Jacob’s head, who was rocking the cradle and staring 
with all his might at the strange lady and gentleman. 

When Kit’s mother had done speaking the old lady 
struck in again, and said that she was quite sure she was 
a very honest and very respectable person or she never 
would have expressed herself in that manner, and th? t 
certainly the appearance of the children and the cleanli- 
ness of the house deserved great praise and did her the 
utmost credit, whereat Kit’s mother dropped a courtesy 
and became consoled. Then the good woman entered 
into a long and minute account of Kit’s life and history 
from the earliest period down to that time, not omitting 
to make mention of his miraculous fall out of a back- 
parlor window when an infant of tender years, or his 
uncommon sufferings in a state of measles, which were 
illustrated by correct imitations of the plaintive manner 
in which he called for toast and water, day and night, 
and said “ don’t cry, mother, I shall soon be better ; ” for 
proof of which statements reference was made to Mrs. 
Green, lodger, at the cheesemonger’s round the corner, 
and divers other ladies and gentlemen in various parts 
of England and Wales (and one Mr. Brown who was 
supposed to be then a corporal in the East Indies, and 


232 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


who could of course be found with very little trouble), 
within whose personal knowledge the circumstances had 
occurred. This narration ended, Mr. Garland put some 
questions to Kit respecting his qualifications, and general 
acquirements, while Mrs. Garland noticed the children 
and hearing from Kit’s mother certain remarkable cir- 
cumstances which had attended the birth of each, related 
certain other remarkable circumstances which had at- 
tended the birth of her own son, Mr. Abel, from which 
it appeared that both Kit’s mother and herself had been, 
above and beyond all other women of what condition or 
age soever, peculiarly hemmed in with perils and dan- 
gers. Lastly, inquiry was made into the nature and 
extent of Kit’s wardrobe, and a small advance being 
made to improve the same, he was formally hired at an 
annual income of Six Pounds, over and above his board 
and lodging, by Mr. and Mrs. Garland, of Abel Cottage, 
Finchley. 

It would be difficult to say which party appeared most 
pleased with this arrangement, the conclusion of which 
was hailed with nothing but pleasant looks and cheerful 
smiles on both sides. It was settled that Kit should re- 
pair to his new abode on the next day but one, in the 
morning ; and finally, the little old couple, after bestow- 
ing a bright half-crown on little Jacob and another on 
the baby, took their leaves ; being escorted as far as the 
street by their new attendant, who held the obdurate 
pony by the bridle while they took their seats, and saw 
them drive away with a lightened heart. 

u Well, mother,” said Kit, hurrying back into the 
house, “I think my fortune’s about made now.” 

“ I should think it was indeed, Kit,” rejoined his 
mother. “ Six pound a year ! Only think ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


233 


“ Ah ! ” said Kit, trying to maintain the gravity which 
the consideration of such a sum demanded, but grinning 
with delight in spite of himself. “ There’s a property ! w 

Kit drew a long breath when he had said this, and put- 
ting his hands deep into his pockets as if there were one 
year’s wages at least in each, looked at his mother, as 
though he saw through her, and down an immense per- 
spective of sovereigns beyond. 

“ Please God we’ll make such a lady of you for Sun- 
days, mother ! such a scholar of Jacob, such a child of 
the baby, such a room of the one up -stairs ! Six pound 
a year ! ” 

“ Hem ! ” croaked a strange voice. “ What’s that 
about six pound a year? What about six pound a 
year ? ” And as the voice made this inquiry, Daniel 
Quilp walked in with Richard Swiveller at his heels. 

“ Who said he was to have six pound a year ? ” said 
Quilp, looking sharply round. “ Did the old man say it, 
or did little Nell say it ? And what’s he to have it for, 
and where are they, eh ! ” 

The good woman was so much alarmed by the sudden 
apparition of this unknown piece of ugliness, that she 
hastily caught the baby from its cradle and retreated into 
the farthest corner of the room ; while little Jacob, sit- 
ting upon his stool with his hands on his knees, looked 
full at him in a species of fascination, roaring lustily all 
the time. Richard Swiveller took an easy observation 
of the family over Mr. Quilp’s head, and Quilp himself 
with his hands in his pockets, smiled in an exquisite en- 
joyment of the commotion he occasioned. 

“ Don’t be frightened, mistress,” said Quilp after a 
pause. “ Your son knows me ; I don’t eat babies ; I 
don’t like ’em. It will be as well to stop that young 


234 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


screamer though, in case I should be tempted to do him 
a mischief. Holloa, sir ! Will you be quiet ? ” 

Little Jacob stemmed the course of two tears which 
he was squeezing out of his eyes, and instantly subsided 
into a silent horror. 

“ Mind you don’t break out again, you villain,” said 
Quilp, looking sternly at him, “ or I’ll make faces at you 
and throw you into fits, I will. Now, you sir, why 
hav 3 n’t you been to me as you promised ? ” 

“ What should I come for ? ” retorted Kit. “ I hadn’t 
any business with you, no more than you had with 
me.” 

“ Here, mistress,” said Quilp, turning quickly away, 
and appealing from Kit to his mother. “ When did his 
old master come or send here last ? Is he here now ? 
If not, where’s he gone ? ” 

“ He has not been here at all,” she replied. “ I wish 
we knew wdiere they have gone, for it would make my 
son a good deal easier in his mind, and me too. If 
you’re the gentleman named Mr. Quilp, I should have 
thought you’d have known, and so I told him only this 
very day.” 

“ Humph ! ” muttered Quilp, evidently disappointed to 
believe that this was true. “ That’s what you tell this 
gentleman too, is it ? ” 

“ If the gentleman comes to ask the same question, 1 
■an’t tell him anything else, sir ; and I only wish I could 
or our own sakes,” was the reply. 

Quilp glanced at Richard Swiveller, and observed that 
having met him on the threshold, he assumed that he 
had come in search of some intelligence of the fugitives. 
He supposed he was right ? 

“ Yes,” said Dick, “ that was the object of the present 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


235 


expedition. I fancied it possible — but let us go ring 
fancy’s knell. Til begin it.” 

“ You seem disappointed,” observed Quilp. 

“ A baffler, sir, a baffler, that’s all,” returned Dick. 
“ I have entered upon a speculation which has proved 
a baffler ; and a Being of brightness and beauty will be 
offered up a sacrifice at Cheggs’s altar. That’s all sir.” 

The dwarf eyed Richard with a sarcastic smile, but 
Richard, who had been taking a rather strong lunch with 
a friend, observed him not, and continued to deplore his 
fate with mournful and despondent looks. Quilp plainly 
discerned that there was some secret reason for this 
visit and his uncommon disappointment, and, in the hope 
there might be means of mischief lurking beneath it, re- 
solved to worm it out. He had no sooner adopted this 
resolution, than he conveyed as much honesty into his 
face as it was capable of expressing, and sympathized 
with Mr. Swiveller exceedingly. 

“ I’m disappointed myself,” said Quilp, “ out of mere 
friendly feeling for them ; but you have real reasons, pri- 
vate reasons I have no doubt, for your disappointment, 
and therefore it comes heavier than mine.” 

“ Why, of course it does,” Dick observed, testily. 

“Upon my word, I’m very sorry, very sorry. I’m 
rather cast down myself. As we are companions in ad- 
versity, shall we be companions in the surest way of for- 
getting it ? If you had no particular business, now, to 
lead you in another direction,” urged Quilp, plucking 
nim by the sleeve and looking slyly up into his face out 
of the corners of his eyes, “ there is a house by the 
water-side where they have some of the noblest Schie- 
dam — reputed to be smuggled, but that’s between our- 
selves — that can be got in all the world. The landlord 


236 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


knows me. There’s a little summer-house overlooking 
the river, where we might take a glass of this delicious 
liquor with a whiff of the best tobacco — it’s in this case, 
and of the rarest quality, to my certain knowledge — 
and be perfectly snug and happy, could we possibly con- 
trive it ; or is there any very particular engagement that 
peremptorily takes you another way, Mr. Swiveller, eh ? ” 

As the dwarf spoke, Dick’s face relaxed into a com- 
pliant smile, and his eyebrows slowly unbent. By the 
time he had finished, Dick was looking down at Quilp in 
the same sly manner as Quilp was looking up at him, 
and there remained nothing more to be done but to set 
out for the house in question. This they did, straight- 
way. The moment their backs were turned, little Jacob 
thawed, and resumed his crying from the point where 
Quilp had frozen him. 

The summer-house of which Mr. Quilp had spoken 
was a rugged wooden box, rotten and bare to see, which 
overhung the river’s mud, and threatened to slide down 
into it. The tavern to which it belonged was a crazy 
building, sapped and undermined by the rats, and only 
upheld by great bars of wood which were reared against 
its walls, and had propped it up so long that even they 
were decaying and yielding with their load, and of a 
windy night might be heard to creak and crack as if the 
whole fabric were about to come toppling down. The 
house stood — if anything so old and feeble could be 
said to stand — on a piece of waste ground, blighted 
with the unwholesome smoke of factory chimneys, and 
echoing the clank of iron wheels and rush of troub- 
led water. Its internal accommodations amply fulfilled 
the promise of the outside. The rooms were low and 
damp, the clammy walls were pierced with chinks and 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


237 


holes, the rotten floors had sunk from their level, the 
very beams started from their places and warned the 
timid stranger from their neighborhood. 

To this inviting spot, entreating him to observe its 
beauties as they passed along, Mr. Quilp led Richard 
Swiveller, and on the table of the summer-house, scored 
deep with many a gallows and initial letter, there soon 
appeared a wooden keg, full of the vaunted liquor. 
Drawing it off into the glasses with the skill of a 
practised hand, and mixing it with about a third part 
of water, Mr. Quilp assigned to Richard Swiveller his 
portion, and lighting his pipe from an end of a candle in 
a very old and battered lantern, drew himself together 
upon a seat and puffed away. 

“ Is it good ? ” said Quilp, as Richard Swdveller 
smacked his lips, “ is it strong and fiery ? Does it 
make you wink, and choke, and your eyes water, and 
your breath come short — does it ? ” 

“ Does it ? ” cried Dick, throwing away part of the 
contents of his glass, and filling it up with water, “ why, 
man, you don’t mean to tell me that you drink such fire 
as this?” 

“ No ! ” rejoined Quilp. “ Not drink it ! Look here. 
And here. And here, again. Not drink it ! ” 

As he spoke, Daniel Quilp drew off and drank three 
small glassfuls of the raw spirit, and then with a horrible 
grimace took a great many pulls at his pipe, and swal- 
lowing the smoke, discharged it in a heavy cloud from 
his nose. This feat accbmplished he drew himself to- 
gether in his former position, and laughed excessively. 

“ Give us a toast ! ” cried Quilp, rattling on the table 
in a dexterous manner with his fist and elbow alter- 
nately in a kind of tune, “ a woman, a beauty. Let’s 


238 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


have a beauty for our toast and empty our glasses to the 
last drop. Her name, come ! ” 

“ If you want a name,” said Dick, “ here’s Sophy 
Wackles.” 

“ Sophy Wackles,” screamed the dwarf, “ Miss Sophy 
Wackles that is — Mrs. Richard Swiveller that shall be 
— that shall be — ha, ha, ha ! ” 

“ Ah ! ” said Dick, “ you might have said that a few 
weeks ago, but it won’t do now, my buck. Immolating 
herself upon the shrine of Cheggs ” — 

“ Poison Cheggs, cut Cheggs’s ears off,” rejoined 
Quilp. “ I won’t hear of Cheggs. Her name is Swiv- 
eller or nothing. I’ll drink her health again, and her 
father’s, and her mother’s ; and to all her sisters and 
brothers — the glorious family of the Wackleses — all 
the Wackleses in one glass — down with it to the 
dregs ! ” 

“ Well,” said Richard Swiveller, stopping short in the 
act of raising the glass to his lips and looking at the 
dwarf in a species of stupor as he flourished his arms 
and legs about : “ you’re a jolly fellow, but of all the 
jolly fellows I ever saw or heard of, you have the 
queerest and most extraordinary way with you, upon 
my life you have.” 

This candid declaration tended rather to increase than 
restrain Mr. Quilp’s eccentricities, and Richard Swiv- 
dler, astonished to see him in such a roistering vein, and 
drinking not a little himself, for company, — began im- 
perceptibly to become more companionable and confid- 
ing, so that being judiciously led on by Mr. Quilp, he 
grew at last very confiding indeed. Having once got 
him into this mood, and knowing now the key-note to 
strike whenever he was at a loss, Daniel Quilp’s task 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


239 


was comparatively an easy one, and he was soon in 
possession of the whole details of the scheme contrived 
between the easy Dick and his more designing friend. 

“ Stop ! ” said Quilp. “ That’s the thing, that’s the 
thing. It can be brought about, it shall be brought 
abou'. There’s my hand upon it ; I’m your friend 
from this minute.” 

“ What ! do you think there’s still a chance ? ” in- 
quired Dick, in surprise at this encouragement. 

“ A chance ! ” echoed the dwarf, “ a certainty ! Sophy 
Wackles may become a Cheggs or anything else she 
likes, but not a Swiveller. Oh you lucky dog ! He’s 
richer than any Jew alive ; you’re a made man. I see 
in you now nothing but Nelly’s husband, rolling in gold 
and silver. I’ll help you. It shall be done. Mind my 
words, it shall be done.” 

“ But how ? ” said Dick. 

“ There’s plenty of time,” rejoined the dwarf, “ and it 
shall be done. We’ll sit down and talk it over again all 
the way through. Fill your glass while I’m gone. I 
shall be back directly — directly.” 

With these hasty w r ords, Daniel Quilp withdrew into 
a dismantled skittle-ground behind the public-house, and, 
throwing himself upon the ground actually screamed and 
rolled about in uncontrollable delight. 

“ Hers’s sport ! ” he cried, “ sport ready to my hand, 
all invented and arranged, and only to be enjoyed. It 
was this shallow-pated fellow who made my bones ache 
t’other day, was it ? It was his friend and fellow-plotter, 
Mr. Trent, that once made eyes at Mrs. Quilp, and leered 
and looked, was it ? After laboring for two or three years 
in their precious scheme, to find that they’ve got a beggar 
sit last, and one of them tied for life. Ha, ha. ha ! He 


240 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


Bhall marry Nell. He shall have her, and I’ll be the 
first man, when the knot’s tied hard and fast, to tell ’em 
what they’ve gained and what I’ve helped ’em to. Here 
will be a clearing of old scores, here will be a time to 
remind ’em what a capital friend I was, and how I helped 
’em to the heiress. Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

In the height of his ecstasy, Mr. Quilp had like to 
have met with a disagreeable check, for rolling very 
near a broken dog-kennel, there leapt forth a large fierc 
dog, who, but that his chain was of the shortest, would 
have given him a disagreeable salute. As it was, the 
dwarf remained upon his back in perfect safety, taunting 
the dog with hideous faces, and triumphing over him in 
his inability to advance another inch, though there were 
not a couple of feet between them. 

“ Why don’t you come and bite me, why don’t you 
come and tear me to pieces, you coward ? ” said Quilp, 
hissing, and worrying the animal till he was nearly mad. 
“ You’re afraid, you bully, you’re afraid, you know you 
are.” 

The dog tore and strained at his chain with starting 
eyes and furious bark, but there the dwarf lay, snapping 
his fingers with gestures of defiance and contempt. 
When he had sufficiently recovered from his delight, 
he rose, and with his arms a-kimbo, achieved a kind of 
demon-dance round the kennel, just without the limits 
of the chain, driving the dog quite wild. Having by 
this means composed his spirits and put himself* in a 
pleasant train, he returned to his unsuspicious com- 
panion, whom he found looking at the tide with ex- 
ceeding gravity, and thinking of that same gold and 
silver which Mr. Quilp had mentioned. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


241 


CHAPTER XXII. 

The remainder of that day and the whole of the next, 
were a busy time for the Nubbles family, to whom every- 
thing connected with Kit’s outfit and departure was mat- 
ter of as great moment as if he had been about to pene- 
trate into the interior of Africa, or to take a cruise round 
the world. It would be difficult to suppose that there 
ever was a box which was opened and shut so many 
times within four-and-twenty hours, as that which con- 
tained his wardrobe and necessaries ; and certainly there 
never was one which to two small eyes presented such a 
mine of clothing, as this mighty chest with its three 
shirts and proportionate allowance of stockings and 
pocket-handkerchiefs, disclosed to the astonished vision 
of little Jacob. At last it was conveyed to the car- 
rier’s, at whose house, at Finchley, Kit was to find it 
next day ; and the box being gone, there remained but 
two questions for consideration : firstly, whether the car- 
rier would lose, or dishonestly feign to lose, the box upon 
the road : and secondly, whether Kit’s mother perfectly 
understood how to take care of herself in the absence of 
her son. 

“ I don’t think there’s hardly a chance of his really 
losing it, but carriers are under great temptation to pre- 
tend they lose things, no doubt,” said Mrs. Nubbles ap- 
prehensively, in reference to the first point. 

VOL. i. 16 


242 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ No doubt about it,” returned Kit, with a serious look ; 
14 upon my word mother, I don’t think it was right to trust 
it to itself. Somebody ought to have gone with it, I’m 
afraid.” 

44 We can’t help it now,” said his mother ; 44 but it was 
foolish and wrong. People oughtn’t to be tempted.” 

Kit inwardly resolved that he would never tempt a 
carrier any more, save with an empty box ; and hav- 
ing formed this Christian determination, he turned his 
thoughts to the second question. 

44 You know you must keep up your spirits mother, 
and not be lonesome because I’m not at home. I shall 
very often be able to look in when I come into town 
I dare say, and I shall send you a letter sometimes, 
and when the quarter comes round, I can get a holi- 
day of course ; and then see if wo don’t take little 
Jacob to the play, and let him know what oysters 
means.” 

44 1 hope plays mayn’t be sinful, Kit, but I’m a’most 
afraid,” said Mrs. Nubbles. 

44 1 know who has been putting that in your head,” 
rejoined her son disconsolately ; 44 that’s Little Bethel 
again. Now I say, mother, pray don’t take to going 
there regularly, for if I was to see your good-humored 
face that has always made home cheerful, turned into 
a grievous one, and the baby trained to look grievous 
too, and to call itself a young sinner (bless its heart) 
and a child of the devil (which is calling its dead father 
names) ; if I was to see this, and see little Jacob look- 
ing grievous likewise, I should so take it to heart that 
I’m sure I should go and ’list for a soldier, and run my 
head on purpose against the first cannon-ball I saw com- 
ing my way.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


243 


“ Oh, Kit, don’t talk like that.” 

“ I would indeed, mother, and unless you want to 
make me feel very wretched and uncomfortable, you’ll 
keep that bow on your bonnet, which you’d more than 
half a mind to pull off last week. Can you suppose 
there’s any harm in looking as cheerful and being a 
cheerful as our poor circumstances will permit? Do 1 
see anything in the way I’m made, which calls upon me 
to be a snivelling, solemn, whispering chap, sneaking 
about as if I couldn’t help it, and expressing myself in 
a most unpleasant snuffle ? On the contrairy, don’t I see 
every reason why I shouldn’t ? Just hear this ! Ha, 
ha, ha! A’n’t that as nat’ral as walking, and as good, 
for the health ? Ha, ha, ha ! A’n’t that as nat’ral 
as a sheep’s bleating, or a pig’s grunting, or a horse’s 
neighing, or a bird’s singing ? Ha, ha, ha ! Isn’t it, 
mother ? ” 

There was something contagious in Kit's laugh, for 
his mother, who had looked grave before, first sub- 
sided into a smile, and then fell to joining in it heart- 
ily, which occasioned Kit to say that he knew it was 
natural, and to laugh the more. Kit and his mother, 
laughing together in a pretty loud key, woke the baby, 
who, finding that there was something very jovial and 
agreeable in progress, was no sooner in its mother’s 
arms than it began to kick and laugh, most vigorously. 
This new illustration of his argument so tickled Kit, 
that he fell backward in his chair in a state of ex- 
haustion, pointing at the baby and shaking his sides 
till he rocked again. After recovering twice or thrice, 
and as often relapsing, he wiped his eyes and said 
grace ; and a very cheerful meal their scanty suppef 
was. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


244 

With more kisses, and hugs, and tears, than many 
young gentlemen who start upon their travels, and leave 
well-stocked homes behind them, would deem within the 
bounds of probability (if matter so low could be herein 
set down), Kit left the house at an early hour next 
morning, and set out to walk to Finchley ; feeling a 
sufficient pride in his appearance to have warranted 
his excommunication from Little Bethel from that time 
forth, if he had ever been one of that mournful congre- 
gation. 

Lest anybody should feel a curiosity to know how Kit 
was clad, it may be briefly remarked that he wore no 
livery, but was dressed in a coat of pepper-and-salt with 
waistcoat of canary color, and nether garments of iron 
gray ; besides these glories, he shone in the lustre of 
a new pair of boots and an extremely stiff and shiny 
hat, which on being struck anywhere with the knuc- 
kles, sounded like a drum. And in this attire, rather 
wondering that he attracted so little attention, and at- 
tributing the circumstance to the insensibility of those 
who got up early, he made his way towards Abel Cot- 
tage. 

Without encountering any more remarkable adven- 
ture on the road, than meeting a lad in a brimless hat, 
the exact counterpart of his old one, on whom he be- 
stowed half the sixpence he possessed, Kit arrived in 
course of time at the carrier’s house, where, to the last- 
ing honor of human nature, he found the box in safety. 
Receiving from the wife of this immaculate man, a 
direction to Mr. Garland’s, he took the box upon his 
shoulder and repaired thither directly. 

To be sure, it was a beautiful little cottage with a 
thatched roof and little spires at the gable ends, and 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 24£ 

pieces of stained glass in some of the windows, almost 
as large as pocket-books. On one side of the house 
was a little stable, just the size for the pony, with a 
little room over it, just the size for Kit. White cur- 
tains were fluttering, and birds in cages that looked 
as bright as if they were made of gold, were singing 
at the windows ; plants were arranged on either side 
of the path, and clustered about the door ; and the 
garden was bright with flowers in full bloom, which 
shed a sweet odor all round, and had a charming and 
elegant appearance. Everything, within the house and 
without seemed to be the perfection of neatness and 
order. In the garden there was not a weed to be seen, 
and to judge from some dapper gardening-tools, a bas- 
ket, and a pair of gloves which were lying in one of the 
walks, old Mr. Garland had been at work in it that very 
morning. 

Kit looked about him, and admired, and looked again, 
and this a great many times before he could make up 
his mind to turn his head another way and ring the 
bell. There was abundance of time to look about him 
again though, when he had rung it, for nobody came, 
so after ringing twice or thrice he sat down upon his 
box, and waited. 

He rung the bell a great many times, and yet nobody 
came. But at last, as he was sitting upon the box think- 
ing about giants’ castles, and princesses tied up to pegs 
by the hair of their heads, and dragons bursting out 
from behind gates, and other incidents of the like na- 
ture, common in story-books to youths of low degree on 
their first visit to strange houses, the door was gently 
opened, and a little servant-girl, very tidy, modest, and 
demure, but very pretty too, appeared. 


246 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“I suppose you’re Christopher, sir,” said the servant- 
girl. 

Kit got off the box, and said yes, he was. 

“ I’m afraid you’ve rung a good many times, perhaps,” 
she rejoined, “ but we couldn’t hear you, because we’ve 
been catching the pony.” 

Kit rather wondered what this meant, but as he 
couldn’t stop there, asking questions, he shouldered the 
box again and followed the girl into the hall, where 
through a back-door he descried Mr. Garland leading 
Whisker in triumph up the garden, after that self-willed 
pony had (as he afterwards learned) dodged the family 
round a small paddock in the rear, for one hour and 
three quarters. 

The old gentleman received him very kindly and so 
did the old lady, whose previous good opinion of him 
was greatly enhanced by his wiping his boots on the 
mat until the soles of his feet burnt again. He was 
then taken into the parlor to be inspected in his new 
clothes ; and when he had been surveyed several times 
and had afforded by his appearance unlimited satisfac- 
tion, he was taken into the stable (where the pony re- 
ceived him with uncommon complaisance) ; and thence 
into the little chamber he had already observed, which 
was very clean and comfortable ; and thence into the 
garden, in which the old gentleman told him he would 
be taught to employ himself, and where he told him, 
besides, what great things he meant to do to make 
him comfortable, and happy, if he found he deserved 
it. All these kindnesses Kit acknowledged with vari- 
ous expressions of gratitude, and so many touches of 
the new hat, that the brim suffered considerably. When 
the old gentleman had said all he had to say in the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


247 


way of promise and advice, and Kit had said all he 
had to say in the way of assurance and thankfulness, 
he was handed over again to the old lady, who, sum- 
moning the little servant-girl (whose name was Bar- 
bara), instructed her to take him down-stairs and give 
him something to eat and drink, after his walk. 

Down-stairs, therefore, Kit went; and at the bottom 
of the stairs there was such a kitchen as was never be- 
fore seen or heard of out of a toy-shop window, with 
everything in it as bright and glowing, and as precisely 
ordered too, as Barbara herself. And in this kitchen, 
Kit sat himself down at a table as white as a table-cloth, 
to eat cold meat, and drink small ale, and use his knife 
and fork the more awkwardly, because there was an un- 
known Barbara looking on and observing him. 

It did not appear, however, that there was anything 
remarkably tremendous about this strange Barbara, who 
having lived a very quiet life, blushed very much, and 
was quite as embarrassed and uncertain what she ought 
to say or do, as Kit could possibly be. When he had sat 
for some little time, attentive to the ticking of the sober 
clock, he ventured to glance curiously at the dresser, 
and there, among the plates and dishes, were Bar- 
bara’s little work-box with a sliding lid to shut in the 
balls of cotton, and Barbara’s prayer-book, and Bar- 
bara’s hymn-book, and Barbara’s Bible. Barbara’s lit- 
tle looking-glass hung in a good light near the window, 
and Barbara’s bonnet was on a nail behind the door. 
From all these mute signs and tokens of her pres- 
ence, he naturally glanced at Barbara herself, who sat 
as mute as they, shelling pease into a dish ; and just 
when Kit was looking at her eyelashes and wonder- 
ng — quite in the simplicity of his heart — what color 


248 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


her eyes might be, it perversely happened that Bar- 
bara raised her head a little to look at him, when 

♦ 

both pair of eyes were hastily withdrawn, and Kit 
leant over his plate, and Barbara over her pea-shells, 
each in extreme confusion at having been detected by 
the other. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


249 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

Mr. Richard Swiveller wending homewards from 
the Wilderness (for such was the appropriate name of 
Quilp’s choice retreat), after a sinuous and corkscrew fash- 
ion, with many checks and stumbles ; after stopping sud- 
denly and staring about him, then as suddenly running 
forward for a few paces, and as suddenly halting again 
and shaking his head ; doing everything with a jerk, and 
nothing by premeditation ; — Mr. Richard Swivelled 
wending his way homewards after this fashion, which is 
considered by evil-minded men to be symbolical of intox- 
ication, and is not held by such persons to denote that state 
of deep wisdom and reflection in which the actor knows 
himself to be, began to think that possibly he had mis- 
placed his confidence and that the dwarf might not be 
precisely the sort of person to whom to entrust a secret of 
such delicacy and importance. And being led and tempt- 
ed on by this remorseful thought into a condition which 
the evil-minded class before referred to would term the 
maudlin state or stage of drunkenness, it occurred to 
Mr Swiveller to cast his hat upon the ground, and moan, 
crying aloud that he was an unhappy orphan, and that if 
he had not been an unhappy orphan things had never 
come to this. 

“ Left an infant by my parents, at an early age,” said 
Mr. Swiveller, bewailing his hard lot, “ cast upon the 


250 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 


world in my tenderest period, and thrown upon the mer- 
cies of a deluding dwarf, who can wonder at my weak- 
ness ! Here’s a miserable orphan for you. Here,” said 
Mr. Swiveller, raising his voice to a high pitch, and look- 
ing sleepily round, “ is a miserable orphan ! ” 

“ Then,” said somebody hard by, 4< let me be a father 
to you.” 

Mr. Swiveller swayed himself to and fro to preserve 
his balance, and, looking into a kind of haze which 
seemed to surround him, at last perceived two eyes dimly 
twinkling through the mist, which he observed, after a 
short time, were in the neighborhood of a nose and 
mouth. Casting his eyes down towards that quarter 
in which, with reference to a man’s face, his legs are 
usually to be found, he observed that the face had a body 
attached ; and when he looked more intently he was sat- 
isfied that the person was Mr. Quilp, who indeed had 
been in his company all the time, but whom he had 
some vague idea of having left a mile or two be- 
hind. 

“ You have deceived an orphan, sir,” said Mr. Swiv- 
eller, solemnly. 

“ I ! I’m a second father to you,” replied Quilp. 

“ You my father, sir ! ” retorted Dick. “ Being all 
right myself, sir, I request to be left alone — instantly, 
sir.” 

“ What a funny fellow you are ! ” cried Quilp. 

“ Go, sir,” returned Dick, leaning against a post and 
waving his hand. “ Go, deceiver, go ; some day, sir, 
p’r’aps you’ll waken from pleasure’s dream to know the 
grief of orphans forsaken. Will you go, sir ? ” 

The dwarf taking no heed of this adjuration, Mr. 
Swiveller advanced with the view of inflicting upon him 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


251 


condign chastisement. But forgetting his purpose or 
changing his mind before he came close to him, he 
seized his hand and vowed eternal friendship, declaring 
with an agreeable frankness that from that time forth 
they were brothers in everything but personal appear- 
ance. Then he told his secret all over again, with the 
addition of being pathetic on the subject of Miss Wack- 
les, who, he gave Mr. Quilp to understand, was the oc- 
casion of any slight incoherency he might observe in his 
speech at that moment, which was attributable solely to 
the strength of his affection and not to rosy wine or 
other fermented liquor. And then they went on arm in 
arm, very lovingly together. 

“I’m as sharp,” said Quilp to him, at parting, “as 
sharp as a ferret, and as cunning as a weasel. You 
bring Trent to me ; assure him that I’m his friend 
though I fear he a little distrusts me (I don’t know why, 
I have not deserved it) ; and you’ve both of you made 
your fortunes — in perspective.” 

“ That’s the worst of it,” returned Dick. “ These for- 
tunes in perspective look such a long way off.” 

“ But they look smaller than they really are, on that 
account,” said Quilp, pressing his arm. “ You’ll have 
no conception of the value of your prize until you draw 
close to it. Mark that.” 

“ D’ye think not ? ” said Dick. 

“ Aye, I do ; and I am certain of what I say, that’s 
tetter,” returned the dwarf. “ You bring Trent to me. 
Tell him I am his friend and yours — why shouldn’t 1 
be?” 

“ There’s no reason why you shouldn’t, certainly,” 
••eplied Dick, “ and perhaps there are a great many why 
you should — at least there would be nothing strange 


252 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


in your wanting to be my friend, if you weie a choice 
spirit, but then you know you’re not a choice spirit.” 

“ I not a choice spirit ! ” cried Quilp. 

“ Devil a bit, sir,” returned Dick. “ A man of your 
appearance couldn’t be. If you’re any spirit at all, sir 
you’re an evil spirit. Choice spirits,” added Dick, sinit 
ing himself on the breast, “ are quite a different looking 
sort of people ; you may take your oath of that, sir.” 

Quilp glanced at his free-spoken friend with a mingled 
expression of cunning and dislike, and wringing his hand 
almost at the same moment, declared that he was an un- 
common character and had his warmest esteem. With 
that they parted ; Mr. Swiveller to make the best of his 
way home and sleep himself sober ; and Quilp to cogi- 
tate upon the discovery he had made, and exult in the 
prospect of the rich field of enjoyment and reprisal it 
opened to him. 

It was not without great reluctance and misgiving that 
Mr. Swiveller, next morning, his head racked by the 
fumes of the renowned Schiedam, repaired to the lodging 
of his friend Trent (which was in the roof of an old 
house in an old ghostly inn), and recounted by very slow 
degrees what had yesterday taken place between him 
and Quilp. Nor was it without great surprise and much 
speculation on Quilp’s probable motives, nor without 
many bitter comments on Dick Swiveller’s folly, that his 
friend received the tale. 

“ I don’t defend myself, Fred,” said the penitent Rich 
ai d ; “ but the fellow has such a queer way with him and 
is such an artful dog, that first of all he set me upon 
thinking whether there was any harm in telling him, and 
while I was thinking, screwed it out of me. If you had 
seen him drink and smoke, as I did, you couldn’t have 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 


253 


kept anything from him. He’s a salamander yoti know, 
that’s what he is.” 

Without inquiring whether salamanders were of 
necessity good confidential agents, or whether a fire- 
proof man was as a matter of course trustworthy, Fred 
erick Trent threw himself into a chair, and, burying hia 
head in his hands, endeavored to fathom the motives 
which had led Quilp to insinuate himself into Richard 
Swiveller’s confidence ; — for that the disclosure was of 
his seeking and had not been spontaneously revealed by 
Dick, was sufficiently plain from Quilp’s seeking his com- 
pany and enticing him away. 

The dwarf had twice encountered him when he was 
endeavoring to obtain intelligence of the fugitives. This, 
perhaps, as he had not shown any previous anxiety about 
them, was enough to awaken suspicion in the breast of 
a creature so jealous and distrustful by nature, setting 
aside any additional impulse to curiosity that he might 
have derived from Dick’s incautious manner. But know- 
ing the scheme they had planned, why should he offer to 
assist it? This was a question more difficult of solu- 
tion ; but as knaves generally overreach themselves by 
imputing their own designs to others, the idea immedi- 
ately presented itself that some circumstances of irrita- 
tion between Quilp and the old man, arising out of their 
secret transactions, and not unconnected perhaps with 
his sudden disappearance, now rendered the former de- 
sirous of revenging himself upon him by seeking to 
entrap the sole object of his love and anxiety into a 
connection of which he knew he had a dread and hatred. 
As Frederick Trent himself, utterly regardless of his sister, 
had this object at heart, only second to the hope of gain, 
it seemed to him the more likely to b( Quilp’s main prin- 


254 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ciple of action. Once investing the dwarf with a design 
of his own in abetting them, which the attainment of 
their purpose would serve, it was easy to believe him sin- 
cere and hearty in the cause ; and as there could be no 
doubt of his proving a powerful and useful auxiliary, 
Trent determined to accept his invitation and go to his 
house that night, and if what he said and did confirmed 
him in the impression he had formed, to let him share 
the labor of their plan, but not the profit. 

Having revolved these things in his mind and arrived 
at this conclusion, he communicated to Mr. Swiveller as 
much of his meditations as he thought proper (Dick 
would have been perfectly satisfied with less), and giving 
him the day to recover himself from his late salamander- 
ing, accompanied him at evening to Mr. Quilp’s house. 

Mightily glad Mr. Quilp was to see them, or mightily 
glad he seemed to be ; and fearfully polite Mr. Quilp 
was to Mrs. Quilp and Mrs. Jiniwin ; and very sharp 
was the look he cast on his wife to observe how she was 
affected by the recognition of young Trent. Mrs. Quilp 
was as innocent as her own mother of any emotion, pain- 
ful Or pleasant, which the sight of him awakened, but as 
her husband’s glance made her timid and confused, and 
uncertain what to do or what was required of her, Mr. 
Quilp did not fail to assign her embarrassment to the 
cause he had in his mind, and while he chuckled at his 
penetration was secretly exasperated by his jealousy. 

Nothing of this appeared, however. On the contrary, 
Mr. Quilp was all blandness and suavity, and presided 
over the case-bottle of rum with extraordinary open- 
heartedness. 

“ Why, let me see,” said Quilp. “ It must be a matter 
of nearly two years since we were first acquainted.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


255 


u Nearer three, I think,” said Trent. 

“ Nearer three ! ” cried Quilp. " How fast time flies. 
Does it seem as long as that to you, Mrs. Quilp ? ” 

66 Yes, I think it seems full three years, Quilp,” was 
the unfortunate reply. Oh indeed, ma’am,” thought 
Quilp, “ you have been pining, have you ? Very good 
ma’am.” 

“ It seems to me but yesterday that you went out to 
Demarara in the Mary Anne,” said Quilp ; 66 but yester- 
day, I declare. Well, I like a little wildness. I was 
wild myself once.” 

Mr. Quilp accompanied this admission with such an 
awful wink, indicative of old rovings and backslidings, 
that Mrs. Jiniwin was indignant, and could not forbear 
from remarking under her breath that he might at least 
put oft' his confessions until his wife was absent ; for 
which act of boldness and insubordination Mr. Quilp 
first stared her out of countenance and then drank her 
health ceremoniously. 

u I thought you’d come back directly, F red. I always 
thought that,” said Quilp, setting down his glass. “ And 
when the Mary Anne returned with you on board, 
instead of a letter to say what a contrite heart you had, 
and how happy you were in the situation that had bee* 
provided for you, I was amused — exceedingly amused 
Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

The young man smiled, but not as though the them® 
was the most agreeable one that could have been selected 
for his entertainment ; and for that reason Quilp pursued 
it. 

“ I always will say,” he resumed, “ that when a rich 
relation having two young people — sisters or brothers, 
or brother and sister — dependent on him, attaches him- 


256 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


self exclusively to one and casts off the other, he does 
wrong.” 

The young man made a movement of impatience, but 
Quilp went on as calmly as if he were discussing some 
abstract question in which nobody present had the slight- 
est personal interest. 

“It’s very true,” said Quilp, 44 that your grandfather 
urged repeated forgiveness, ingratitude, riot, and extrav- 
agance, and all that ; but, as I told him, 4 these are com- 
mon faults.’ 4 But he’s a scoundrel,’ said he. 4 Granting 
that,’ said I (for the sake of argument, of course), f a 
great many young noblemen and gentlemen are scoun- 
drels too ! ’ But he wouldn’t be convinced.” 

44 1 wonder at that, Mr. Quilp,” said the young man 
sarcastically. 

44 Well, so did I at the time,” returned Quilp, 44 but ho 
was always obstinate. He was in a manner a friend of 
mine, but he was always obstinate and wrong-headed. 
Little Nell is a nice girl, a charming girl, but you’re her 
brother, Frederick. You’re her brother after all; as 
you told him the last time you met, he can’t alter 
that.” 

44 He would if he could, confound him for that and 
all other kindnesses,” said the young man impatiently. 
44 But nothing can come of this subject now, and let us 
have done with it in the Devil’s name.” 

44 Agreed,” returned Quilp, 44 agreed on my part, readily 
Why have I alluded to it? Just to show you, Frederick, 
that I have always stood your friend. You little knew 
who was your friend and who your foe ; now did you ? 
You thought I was against you, and so there has been a 
coolness between us ; but it was all on your side, entirely 
on your side. Let’s shake hands again, Fred.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


257 


With his head sunk down between his shoulders, and 
a hideous grin overspreading his face, the dwarf stood up 
and stretched his short arm across the table. After a mo- 
ment’s hesitation, the young man stretched out his to meet 
it ; Quilp clutched his fingers in a grip that for the mo- 
ment stopped the current of the blood within them, and 
pressing his other hand upon his lip and frowning towards 
the unsuspicious Richard, released them and sat down. 

This action was not lost upon Trent, who, knowing 
that Richard Swiv3ller was a mere tool in his hands and 
knew no more of his designs than he thought proper to 
communicate, saw that the dwarf perfectly understood 
their relative position, and fully entered into the char- 
acter of his friend. It is something to be appreciated, 
even in knavery. This silent homage to his superior 
abilities, no less than a sense of the power with which 
the dwarfs quick perception had already invested him, 
inclined the young man towards that ugly worthy, and 
determined him to profit by his aid. 

It being now Mr. Quilp’s cue to change the subject 
with all convenient expedition, lest Richard Swiveller in 
his heedlessness should reveal anything which it was 
inexpedient for the women to know, he proposed a game 
at four-handed cribhage ; and partners being cut for, 
Mrs. Quilp fell to Frederick Trent, and Dick himself to 
Quilp. Mrs. Jiniwin being very fond of cards was care- 
fully excluded by her son-in-law from any participation in 
the game, and had assigned to her the duty of occasion- 
ally replenishing the glasses from the case-bottle 5 Mr. 
Quilp from that moment keeping one eye constantly 
upon her, lest she should by any means procure a taste 
of the same, and thereby tantalizing the wretched old 
lady (who was as much attached to the case-bottle aa 
17 


VOL. I. 


258 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the cards) in a double degree and most ingenious mam 
tier. 

But it was not to Mrs. Jiniwin alone that Mr. Quilp’s 
attention was restricted, as several other matters required 
his constant vigilance. Among his various eccentric 
habits he had a humorous one of always cheating at 
cards, which rendered necessary on his part, not only a 
close observance of the game, and a sleight-of-hand in 
counting and scoring, but also involved the constant 
correction, by looks, and frowns, and kicks under the 
table, of Richard Swiveller % who being bewildered by 
the rapidity with which his cards were told, and the rate 
at which the pegs travelled down the board, could not be 
prevented from sometimes expressing his surprise and 
incredulity. Mrs. Quilp too was the partner of young 
Trent, and for every look that passed between them, and 
every word they spoke, and every card they played, the 
dwarf had eyes and ears; not occupied alone with what 
was passing above the table, but with signals that might 
be exchanging beneath it, which he laid all kinds of traps 
to detect ; besides often treading on his wife’s toes to see 
whether she cried out or remained silent under the inflic- 
tion, in which latter case it would have been quite clear 
that Trent had been treading on her toes before. Yet, 
in the midst of all these distractions, the one eye was 
upon the old lady always, and if she so much as stealthily 
advanced a teaspoon towards a neighboring glass (which 
she often did), for the purpose of abstracting but one 
sup of its sweet contents, Quilp’s hand would overset it 
in the very moment of her triumph, and Quilp’s mocking 
voice implore her to regard her precious health. And 
in any one of these his many cares, from first to last, 
Quilp never flagged nor faltered. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


259 


At length, when they had played a great many rub- 
bers and drawn pretty freely upon the case-bottle, Mr. 
Quilp warned his lady to retire to rest, and that submis- 
sive wife complying, and being followed by her indignant 
mother, Mr. Swiveller fell asleep. The dwarf beckoning 
his remaining companion to the other end of the room, 
held a short conference with him in whispers. 

“ It’s as well not to say more than one can help before 
our worthy friend,” said Quilp, making a grimace towards 
the slumbering Dick. “ Is it a bargain between us 
Frsd ? Shall he marry little rosy Nell by and by ? 99 

“ You have some end of your own to answer of 
course,” returned the other. 

“ Of course I have, dear Fred,” said Quilp, grinning 
to think how little he suspected what the real end was. 
“ It’s retaliation perhaps ; perhaps whim. I have influ- 
ence, Fred, to help or oppose. Which way shall I use 
it ? There are a pair of scales, and it goes into one.” 

“ Throw it into mine then,” said Trent. 

“ It’s done Fred,” rejoined Quilp, stretching out his 
clenched hand and opening it as if he had let some 
weight fall out. “ It’s in the scale from this time, and 
turns it Fred. Mind that.” 

“ Where have they gone ? ” asked Trent. 

Quilp shook his head, and said that point remained 
to be discovered, which it might be, easily. When it 
was, they would begin their preliminary advances. He 
would visit the old man, or even Richard Swiveller 
might visit him, and by affecting a deep concern in his 
behalf and imploring him to settle in some worthy home, 
lead to the child’s remembering him with gratitude and 
favor. Once impressed to this extent, it would be easy, 
ne said, to win her in a year or two, for she supposed the 


260 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

old man to be poor, as it was a part of his jealous policy 
(in common with many other misers) to feign to be so, 
to those about him. 

“ He has feigned it often enough to me, of late,” said 
Trent. 

“ Oh ! and to me too ! ” replied the dwarf. “ Which 
is more extraordinary, as I know how rich he really 
is.” 

u I suppose you should,” said Trent. 

“I think I should, indeed,” rejoined the dwarf; and 
in that, at least, he spoke the truth. 

After a few more whispered words, they returned to 
the table, and the young man rousing Richard Swiveller 
informed him that he was waiting to depart. This was 
welcome news to Dick, who started up directly. After 
a few words of confidence in the result of their project 
had been exchanged, they bade the grinning Quilp good- 
night. 

Quilp crept to the window as they passed in the street 
below, and listened. Trent was pronouncing an encomi- 
um upon his wife, and they were both wondering by what 
enchantment she had been brought to marry such a mis- 
shapen wretch as he. The dwarf after watching their 
retreating shadows with a wider grin than his face had 
yet displayed, stole softly iu the dark to bed. 

In this hatching of their scheme, neither Trent nor 
Quilp had had one thought about the happiness or misery 
of poor innocent Nell. It would have been strange if 
the careless profligate, who was the butt of both, had 
been harassed by any such consideration ; for his high 
opinion of his own merits and deserts rendered the pro- 
ject rather a laudable one than otherwise ; arid if he had 
been visited by so unwonted a guest as reflection, he 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


261 


would — being a brute only in the gratification of his 
appetites — have soothed his conscience with the plea 
that he did not mean to beat or kill his wife, and would 
therefore, after all said and done, be a very tolerable 
average husband. 


2G2 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

It was not until they were quite exhausted and could 
no longer maintain the pace at which they had fled from 
the race-ground, that the old man and the child ventured 
to stop, and sit down to rest upon the borders of a little 
wood. Here, though the course was hidden from their 
view, they could yet faintly distinguish the noise of dis- 
tant shouts, the hum of voices, and the beating of drums. 
Climbing the eminence which lay between them and the 
spot they had left, the child could even discern the flut- 
tering flags and white tops of booths ; but no person was 
approaching towards them, and their resting-place was 
solitary and still. 

Some time elapsed before she could reassure her trem- 
bling companion, or restore him to a state of moderate 
tranquillity. His disordered imagination represented to 
him a crowd of persons stealing towards them beneath 
the cover of the bushes, lurking in every ditch, and 
peeping from the boughs of every rustling tree. He was 
haunted by apprehensions of being led captive to some 
gloomy place where he would be chained and scourged, 
and worse than all, where Nell could never come to see 
him, save through iron bars and gratings in the wall. 
His terrors affected the child. Separation from her 
grandfather was the greatest evil she could dread ; and 
feeling for the time as though, go where they would, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


263 


they were to be hunted down, and could never be safe 
but in hiding, her heart failed her, and her courage 
drooped. 

In one so young, and so unused to the scenes in which 
she had lately moved, this sinking of the spirit was not 
surprising. But Nature often enshrines gallant and 
noble hearts in weak bosoms — oftenest, God bless her, 
in female breasts — and when the child, casting her tear- 
ful eyes upon the old man, remembered how weak he 
was, and how destitute and helpless he would be, if she 
failed him, her heart swelled within her, and animated 
her with new strength and fortitude. 

66 We are quite safe now, and have nothing to fear in- 
deed, dear grandfather,” she said. 

“ Nothing to fear ! ” returned the old man. “ Nothing 
to fear if they took me from thee ! Nothing to fear if 
they parted us! Nobody is true to me. No, not one. 
Not even Nell!” 

“ Oh ! do not say that,” replied the child, “ for if ever 
anybody was true at heart, and earnest, I am. I am 
sure you know I am.” 

“ Then how,” said the old man, looking fearfully round, 
“how can you bear to think that we are safe when 
they are searching for me everywhere, and may come 
here, and steal upon us, even while we’re talking ? ” 

“ Because I’m sure we have not been followed,” said 
the child. “ J udge for yourself dear grandfather ; look 
round, and see how quiet and still it is. We are alone 
together, and may ramble where we like. Not safe! 
Could I feel easy — did I feel at ease — when any dan- 
ger threatened you ? ” 

“ True, true,” he answered, pressing her hand, but still 
looking anxiously about. “ What *mise was that ? ” 


264 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ A bird,” said the child, “ flying into the wood, and 
leading the way for us to follow. You remember that 
we said we would walk in woods and fields, and by 
the side of rivers, and how happy we would be — you 
remember that ? But here, while the sun shines above 
our heads, and everything is bright and happy, we are 
sitting sadly down, and losing time. See what a pleas- 
ant path; and there’s the bird — the same bird — now 
he flies to another tree, and stays to sing. Come I ” 

When they rose up from the ground, and took the 
shady track which led them through the wood, she 
bounded on before, printing her tiny footsteps in the 
moss, which rose elastic from so light a pressure and 
gave it back as mirrors throw off breath ; and thus she 
lured the old man on, with many a backward look and 
merry beck, now pointing stealthily to some lone bird 
as it perched and twittered on a branch that strayed 
across their path, now stopping to listen to the songs 
that broke the happy silence, or watch the sun as it 
trembled through the leaves, and stealing in among the 
ivied trunks of stout old trees, opened long paths of 
light. As they passed onward, parting the boughs that 
clustered in their way, the serenity which the child had 
first assumed, stole into her breast in earnest ; the old 
man cast no longer fearful looks behind, but felt at ease, 
and cheerful, for the farther they passed into the deep 
green shade, the more they felt that the tranquil mind 
of God was there, and shed its peace on them. 

At length the path becoming clearer and less intricate, 
brought them to the end of the wood, and into a public 
road. Taking their way along it for a short distance, 
they came to a lane so shaded by the trees on either 
hand that they met together overhead, and arched the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


265 


narrow way. A broken finger-post announced that this 
led to a village three miles off ; and thither they resolved 
to bend their steps. 

The miles appeared so long that they sometimes 
thought they must have missed their road. But a* 
last, to their great joy, it led downward in a steep de- 
scent, with overhanging banks over which the footpaths 
led; and the clustered houses of the village peeped 
from the woody hollow below. 

It was a very small place. The men and boys were 
playing at cricket on the green ; and as the other folks 
were looking on, they wandered up and down, uncer- 
tain where to seek a humble lodging. There was but 
one old man in the little garden before his cottage, and 
him they were timid of approaching, for he was the 
schoolmaster, and had “ School ” written up over his 
window in black letters on a white board. He was a 
pale, simple-looking man, of a spare and meagre habit, 
and sat among his flowers and beehives, smoking hist 
pipe, in the little porch before his door. 

“ Speak to him, dear,” the old man whispered. 

“I am almost afraid to disturb him,” said the child 
timidly. “ He does not seem to see us. Perhaps if we 
wait a little, he may look this way.” 

They waited, but the schoolmaster cast no look tow- 
ards them, and still sat, thoughtful and silent, in the 
little porch. He had a kind face. In his plain old sui 
of black, he looked pale and meagre. They fancied 
too, a lonely air about him and his house, but perhaps 
that was because the other people formed a merry com- 
oany upon the green, and he seemed the only solitary 
man in all the place. 

They were very tired, and the child would have been 


266 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


bold enough to address even a schoolmaster, but for 
something in his manner which seemed to denote that he 
was uneasy or distressed. As they stood hesitating at a 
little distance, they saw that he sat for a few minutes at 
a time like one in a brown study, then laid aside his 
pipe and took a few turns in his garden, then approached 
the gate and looked towards the green, then took up his 
pipe again with a sigh, and sat down thoughtfully as be- 
fore. 

As nobody else appeared and it would soon be dark, 
Nell at length took courage, and when he had resumed 
his pipe and seat, ventured to draw near, leading her 
grandfather by the hand. The slight noise they made 
in raising the latch of the wicket-gate, caught his atten- 
tion. He looked at them kindly but seemed disappointed 
too, and slightly shook his head. 

Nell dropped a courtesy, and told him they were poor 
travellers who sought a shelter for the night which they 
would gladly pay for, so far as their means allowed. 
The schoolmaster looked earnestly at her as she spoke, 
laid aside his pipe, and rose up directly. 

“ If you could direct us anywhere, sir,” said the child, 
u we should take it very kindly.” 

“ You have been walking a long way,” said the school- 
master. 

“ A long way, sir,” the child replied. 

“ You’re a young traveller, my child,” he said, laying 
his hand gently on her head. “ Your grandchild, 
friend ? ” 

“ Ay, sir,” cried the old man, “ and the stay and 
comfort of my life.” 

“ Come in,” said the schoolmaster. 

Without further preface he conducted them into his 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


267 


little school-room, which was parlor and kitchen likewise, 
and told them they were welcome to remain under his 
roof till morning. Before they had done thanking him, 
he spread a coarse white cloth upon the table, with 
knives and platters ; and bringing out some bread and 
cold meat and a jug of beer, besought them to eat and 
drink. 

The child looked round the room as she took her seat. 
There were a couple of forms, notched and cut and 
inked all over ; a small deal desk perched on four legs, at 
which no doubt the master sat ; a few dog’s-eared books 
upon a high shelf ; and beside them a motley collection 
of peg-tops, balls, kites, fishing-lines, marbles, half-eaten 
apples, and other confiscated property of idle urchins. 
Displayed on hooks upon the wall in all their terrors, 
were the cane and ruler ; and near them, on a small 
shelf of its own, the dunce’s cap, made of old news- 
papers and decorated with glaring wafers of the largest 
size. But, the great ornaments of the w r alls were certain 
moral sentences fairly copied in good round text, and 
well-worked sums in simple addition and multiplication, 
evidently achieved by the same hand, which were plenti- 
fully pasted all round the room : for the double purpose, 
as it seemed, of bearing testimony to the excellence of 
the school, and kindling a worthy emulation in thn 
bosoms of the scholars. 

“ Yes,” said the old schoolmaster, observing that her 
attention wes caught by these latter specimens. “That’s 
beautiful writing, my dear.” 

“ Very, sir,” replied the child modestly, “ is it yours ?” 

“ Mine ! ” he returned, taking out his spectacles and 
putting them on, to have a better view of the triumphs 
so dear to his heart. “ / couldn’t write like that, nowa< 


268 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


days. No. They’re all done by one hand ; a little hand 
it is, not so old as yours but a very clever one.” 

As the schoolmaster said this, he saw that a small blot 
of ink had been thrown on one of the copies, so he took 
a penknife from his pocket, and going up to the wall, 
carefully scraped it out. When he had finished, he 
walked slowly backward from the writing, admiring it as 
one might contemplate a beautiful picture, but with 
something of sadness in his voice and manner which 
quite touched the child, though she was unacquainted 
with its cause. 

“ A little hand indeed,” said the poor schoolmaster 
“ Far beyond all his companions, in his learning and his 
sports too, how did he ever come to be so fond of me ! 
That I should love him is no wonder, but that he should 
love me ” — and there the schoolmaster stopped, and 
took off his spectacles to wipe them, as though they had 
grown dim. 

“ I hope there is nothing the matter, sir,” said Nell 
anxiously. 

“ Not much, my dear,” returned the schoolmaster. “ I 
hoped to have seen him on the green to-night. He was 
always foremost among them. But he’ll be there to- 
morrow.” 

“ Has he been ill ? ” asked the child, with a child’s 
quick sympathy. 

“ Not very. They said he was wandering in his head 
yesterday, dear boy, and so they said the day before. 
But that’s a part of that kind of disorder ; it’s not a bad 
sign — not at all a bad sign.” 

The child was silent. He walked to the door, and 
looked wistfully out. The shadows of night were gath- 
ering, and all was still. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


269 


“If he could lean upon anybody’s arm, he would 
come to me, I know,” he said, returning into the room 

“ He always came into the garden to say good-night. 
But perhaps his illness has only just taken a favorable 
turn, and it’s too late for him to come out, for it’s very 
damp and there’s a heavy dew. It’s much better he 
shouldn’t come to might.” 

The schoolmaster lighted a candle, fastened the win- 
dow-shutter, and closed the door. But after he had 
done this, and sat silent a little time, he took down his 
hat, and said he would go and satisfy himself, if Nell 
would sit up till he returned. The child readily com- 
plied, and he went out. 

She sat there half an hour or more, feeling the place 
very strange and lonely, for she had prevailed upon the 
old man to go to bed, and there was nothing to be heard 
but the ticking of an old clock, and the whistling of the 
wind among the trees. When he returned, he took his 
seat in the chimney-corner, but remained silent for a 
long time. At length he turned to her, and speaking 
very gently, hoped she would say a prayer that night 
for a sick child. 

“ My favorite scholar!” said the poor schoolmaster, 
smoking a pipe he had forgotten to light, and looking 
mournfully round upon the walls. “ It is a little hand 
to have done all that, and waste awaj with sickness. It 
is a very, very little hand ! 


270 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


» 


CHAPTER XXV. 

After a sound night’s rest in a chamber in the 
thatched roof, in which it seemed the sexton had for 
some years been a lodger, but which he had lately de- 
serted for a wife and a cottage of his own, the child rose 
early in the morning, and descended to the room where 
she had supped last night. As the schoolmaster had 
already left his bed and gone out, she bestirred herself 
to make it neat and comfortable, and had just finished 
its arrangement when the kind host returned. 

He thanked htn. many times, and said that the old 
dame who usually did such offices for him had gone to 
nurse the little scholar whom he had told her of. The 
child asked how he was, and hoped he was better. 

u No,” rejoined the schoolmaster shaking his head sor- 
rowfully, u no better. They even say he is worse.” 

“ I am very sorry for that, sir,” said the child. 

Tne poor schoolmaster appeared to be gratified by 
her earnest manner, but yet rendered more uneasy by 
it, for he added hastily that anxious people often mag- 
nified an evil and thought it greater than it was ; 
(< for my part,” he said, in his quiet patient way, “ I hope 
it’s not so. I don’t think he can be worse.” 

The child asked his leave to prepare breakfast, and her 
grandfather coming down-stairs they all three partook 
of it together. While the meal was in progress, their 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


271 


host remarked that the old man seemed much fatigued, 
and evidently stood in need of rest. 

“ If the journey you have before you is a long one,” 
he said, “ and don’t press you for one day, you’re very 
welcome to pass another night here. I should really bo 
glad *f you would, friend.” 

He saw that the old man looked at Nell, uncertain 
whether to accept or decline his offer ; and added, — 

“ I shall be glad to have your young companion with 
me for one day. If you can do a charity to a lone man, 
and rest yourself at the same time, do so. If you must 
proceed upon your journey, I wish you well through it, 
and will walk a little way with you before school begins/ 
“ What are we to do, Nell,” said the old man irreso- 
lutely, “ say what we’re to do, dear.” 

It required no great persuasion to induce the child 
to answer that they had better accept the invitation and 
remain. She was happy to show her gratitude to the 
kind schoolmaster by busying herself in the performance 
of such household duties as his little cottage stood in 
need of. When these were done, she took some needle- 
work from her basket, and sat herself down upon a stool 
beside the lattice, where the honeysuckle and woodbine 
entwined their tender stems, and stealing into the room 
filled it with their delicious breath. Her grandfather 
was basking in the sun outside, breathing the perfume of 
the flowers, and idly watching the clouds as they floated 
on before the light summer wind. 

As the schoolmaster, after arranging the two forms in 
due order, took his seat behind his desk and made other 
preparations for school, the child was apprehensive that 
she might be in the way, and offered to withdraw to her 
little bedroom. But this he would not allow, and as he 


272 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


seemed pleased to have her there, she remained, busying 
herself with her work. 

“ Have you many scholars, sir ? ” she asked. 

The poor schoolmaster shook his head, and said that 
they barely filled the two forms. 

“ Are the others clever, sir ? ” asked the child, glancing 
at the trophies on the wall. 

“ Good boys,” returned the schoolmaster, “ good boys 
enough, my dear, but they’ll never do like that.” 

A small white-headed boy with a sunburnt face ap- 
peared at the door while he was speaking, and stopping 
there to make a rustic bow, came in and took his sea. 
upon one of the forms. The white-headed boy then 
put an open book, astonishingly dog’s-eared, upon his 
knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began 
counting the marbles with which they were filled ; dis- 
playing in the expression of his face a remarkable ca- 
pacity of totally abstracting his mind from the spelling 
on which his eyes were fixed. Soon afterwards another 
white-headed little boy came straggling in, and after him 
a red-headed lad, and after him two more with white 
heads, and then one with a flaxen poll, and so on until 
the forms were occupied by a dozen boys or thereabouts, 
with heads of every color but gray, and ranging in their 
ages from four years old to fourteen years or more ; for 
the legs of the youngest were a long way from the floor 
when he sat upon the form, and the eldest was a heavy 
good-tempered foolish fellow, about half a head taller than 
the schoolmaster. 

At the top of the first form — the post of honor in 
the school — was the vacant place of the little sick 
scholar, and at the head of the row of pegs on which 
those who came in hats or caps were wont to hang 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


273 


them up, one was left empty. No boy attempted to violate 
the sanctity of seat or peg, but many a one looked from 
the empty spaces to the schoolmaster, and whispered his 
idle neighbor behind his hand. 

Then began the hum of conning over lessons and get- 
ting them by heart, the whispered jest and stealthy 
game, and all the noise and drawl of school ; and in the 
midst of the din sat the poor schoolmaster, the very 
image of meekness and simplicity, vainly attempting to 
fix his mind upon the duties of the day, and to for- 
get his little friend. But the tedium of his office re- 
minded him more strongly of the willing scholar, and his 
thoughts were rambling from his pupils — it was plain. 

None knew this better than the idlest boys, who, grow- 
ing bolder with impunity, waxed louder and more dar 
ing ; playing odd-or-even Under the master’s eye, eating 
apples openly and without rebuke, pinching each other 
in sport or malice without the least reserve, and cutting 
their autographs in the very legs of his desk. The puz- 
zled dunce, who stood beside it to say his lesson out of 
book, looked no longer at the ceiling for forgotten words, 
but drew closer to the master’s elbow and boldly cast his 
eye upon the page ; the wag of the little troop squinted 
and made grimaces (at the smallest boy of course), hold- 
ing no book before his face, and his approving audience 
knew no constraint in their delight. If the master did 
chance to rouse himself and seem alive to what was going 
on, the noise subsided for a moment, and no eyes met his 
but wore a studious and a deeply humble look ; but the 
instant he relapsed again, it broke out afresh, and ten 
times louder than before. 

Oh ! how some of those idle fellows longed to be out- 
side, and how they looked at the open door and window, 
18 


VOL. I. 


274 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


as if they half meditated rushing violently out, plunging 
into the woods, and being wild boys and savages from 
that time forth. What rebellious thoughts of the cool 
river, and some shady bathing-place beneath willow- 
trees with branches dipping in the water, kept tempting 
and urging that sturdy boy, who, with his shirt-collar un- 
buttoned and flung back as far as it could go, sat fanning 
his flushed face with a spelling-book, wishing himself a 
whale, or a tittlebat, or a fly, or anything but a boy at 
school on that hot broiling day ! Heat ! ask that other 
boy, whose seat being nearest to the door, gave him op- 
portunities of gliding out into the garden and driving 
his companions to madness by dipping his face into the 
bucket of the well and then rolling on the grass — ask 
nim if there were ever such a day as that, when even 
the bees were diving deep down into the cups of flowers 
and stopping there, as if they had made up their minds 
to retire from business and be manufacturers of honey no 
more. The day was made for laziness, and lying on 
one’s back in green places, and staring at the sky till 
its brightness forced one to shut one’s eyes and go to 
sleep; and was this a time to be poring over musty 
books in a dark room, slighted by the very sun itself? 
Monstrous ! 

Nell sat by the window occupied with her work, but 
attentive still to all that passed, though sometimes rather 
timid of the boisterous boys. The lessons over, writing 
time began ; and there being but one desk and that the 
master’s, each boy sat at it in turn and labored at his 
crooked copy, while the master walked about. This was 
a quieter time ; for he would come and look over the 
writer’s shoulder, and tell him mildly to observe how 
such a letter was turned in such a copy on the wall.. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


275 


praise such an up-stroke here and such a down-stroke 
there, and bid him take it For his model. . Then he 
would stop and tell them what the sick child had said 
last night, and how he had longed to be among them 
once again ; and such was the poor schoolmaster’s gentle 
and affectionate manner, that the hoys seemed quite re 
morseful that they had worried him so much, and were 
absolutely quiet ; eating no apples, cutting no names, in- 
dicting no pinches, and making no grimaces, for full two 
minutes afterwards. 

“ I think, boys,” said the schoolmaster when the clock 
struck twelve, “ that I shall give an extra half-holiday 
this afternoon.” 

At this intelligence, the boys, led on and headed by 
the tall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which 
the master was seen to speak, but could not be heard. 
As he held up his hand, however, in token of his wish 
that they should be silent, they were considerate enough 
to leave off, as soon as the longest-winded among them 
were quite out of breath. 

“ You must promise me first,” said the schoolmaster, 
“that you’ll not be noisy, or at least, if you are, that 
you’ll go away and be so — away out of the village I 
mean. I’m sure you wouldn’t disturb your old playmate 
and companion.” 

There was a gentle murmur, (and perhaps a very 
sincere one, for they were but boys,) in the negative; 
and the tall boy, perhaps as sincerely as any of them, 
called those about him to witness that he had only 
shouted in a whisper. 

“Then pray don’t forget, there’s my dear scholars,” 
said the schoolmaster, “ what I have asked you, and do 
it as a favor to me. Be as happy as you can, and don’t 


276 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


be unmindful that you are blessed with health. Good- 
by all ! ” 

“Thank ’ee sii and “good-by sir,” were said a great 
many times in a variety of voices, and the boys went 
out very slowly and softly. But there was the sun shin- 
ing and there were the birds singing, as the sun only 
shines and the birds only sing on holidays and half- 
holidays ; there were the trees waving to all free boys 
to climb and nestle among their leafy branches ; the hay, 
entreating them to come and scatter it to the pure air ; 
the green corn, gently beckoning towards wood and 
stream ; the smooth ground, rendered smoother still by 
blending lights and shadows, inviting to runs and leaps 
and long walks God knows whither. It was more than 
boy could bear, and with a joyous whoop the whole 
cluster took to their heels and spread themselves about, 
shouting and laughing as they went. 

“It’s natural, thank Heaven!” said the poor school- 
master looking after them. “ I’m very glad they didn’t 
mind me ! ” 

It is difficult, however, to please everybody, as most 
of us would have discovered, even without the fable 
which bears that moral ; and in the course of the after- 
noon several mothers and aunts of pupils looked in to 
express their entire disapproval of the schoolmaster’s 
proceeding. A few confined themselves to hints, such 
as politely inquiring what red-letter day or saint’s day 
the almanac said it was ; a few (these were the profound 
village politicians) argued that it was a slight to the 
throne and an affront to church and state, and savored 
of revolutionary principles, to grant a half-holiday upon 
any lighter occasion than the birthday of the Monarch ; 
but the majority expressed their displeasure on private 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


277 


grounds and in plain terms, arguing that to put the pu- 
pils on this short allowance of learning was nothing but 
an act of downright robbery and fraud : and one old 
lady, finding that she could not inflame or irritate the 
peaceable schoolmaster by talking to him, bouticed out 
of his house and talked at him for half an hour out 
side his own window, to another old lady, saying that 
of course he would deduct this half-holiday from his 
weekly charge, or of course he would naturally expect 
to have an opposition started against him; there was 
no want of idle chaps in that neighborhood (here the 
old lady raised her voice), and some chaps who were 
too idle even to be schoolmasters, might soon find that 
there were other chaps put over their heads, and so she 
would have them take care, and look pretty sharp about 
them. But all these taunts and vexations failed to elicit 
one word from the meek schoolmaster, who sat with the 
child by his side, — a little more dejected perhaps, but 
quite silent and uncomplaining. 

Towards night an old woman came tottering Up the 
garden as speedily as she could, and meeting the school- 
master at the door, said he was to g$ to Dame West’s 
directly, and had best run on before her. He and the 
child were on the point of going out together for a walk, 
and without relinquishing her hand, the schoolmaster 
•hurried away, leaving the messenger to follow as she 
might. 

They stopped at a cottage-door, and the schoolmaster 
knocked softly at it with his hand. It was opened with- 
out loss of time. They entered a room where a little 
group of women were gathered about one, older than 
the rest, who was crying very bitterly, and sat wringing 
her hands and rocking herself to and fro. 


278 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Oh dame ! ” said the schoolmaster drawing near her 
shair, “ is it so bad as this ? ” 

“ He’s going fast,” cried the old woman ; “ my grand- 
son’s dying. It’s all along of you. You shouldn’t see 
him now, but for his being so earnest on it. This is 
what his learning has brought him to. Oh dear, dear, 
dear, what can I do ! ” 

“ Do not say that I am in any fault,” urged the gen- 
tle schoolmaster. “ I am not hurt, dame. No, no. You 
are in great distress of mind, and don’t mean what you 
say. I am sure you don’t.” 

“ I do,” returned the old woman. “ I mean it all. If 
he hadn’t been poring over his books out of fear of you, 
he would have been well and merry now, I know he 
would.” 

The schoolmaster looked round upon the other women 
as if to entreat some one among them to say a kind 
word for him, but they shook their heads, and murmured 
to each other that they never thought there was much 
good in learning, and that this convinced them. With- 
out saying a word in reply, or giving them a look of re- 
proach, he followed the old woman who had summoned 
him (and who had now rejoined them) into another room, 
where his infant friend, half-dressed, lay stretched upon 
a bed. 

He was a very young boy ; quite a little child. His. 
hair still hung in curls about his face, and his eyes were 
very bright; but their light was of Heaven, not earth. 
The schoolmaster took a seat beside him, and stooping 
over the pillow, whispered his name. The boy sprung 
up, stroked Ms fa^e with his hand, and threw his wasted 
arms around Ms oeck, crying out that he was his dear 
kind friend. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


279 


“ I hope I always was. I meant to be, God knows/’ 
said the pocr schoolmaster. 

“ Who is that ? ” said the boy, seeing Nell. “ I am 
afraid to kiss her, lest I should make her ill. Ask her 
to shake hands with me.” 

The sobbing child came closer up, and took the little 
languid hand in hers. Releasing his again after a time, 
the sick boy laid him gently down. 

“ You remember the garden, Harry,” whispered the 
schoolmaster, anxious to rouse him, for a dulness seemed 
gathering upon the child, “ and how pleasant it used to 
be in the evening time ? You must make haste to visit 
it again, for I think the very flowers have missed you, 
and are less gay than they used to be. You will come 
soon, my dear, very soon now, — won’t you ? ” 

The boy smiled faintly — so very, very faintly — and 
put his hand upon his friend’s gray head. He moved 
his lips too, but no voice came from them ; no, not a 
sound. 

In the silence that ensued, the hum of distant voices 
borne upon the evening air came floating through the 
open window. “ What’s that ? ” said the sick child, 
opening his eyes. 

“The boys at play upon the green.” 

He took a handkerchief from his pillow, and tried to 
wave it above his head. But the feeble arm dropped 
powerless down. 

“ Shall I do it ? ” said the schoolmaster. 

’ “ Please wave it at the window,” was the faint reply. 
u Tie it to the lattice. Some of them may see it there. 
Perhaps they’ll think of me, and look this way.” 

He raised his head, and glanced from the fluttering 
signal to his idle bat, that lay with slate and book and 


280 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


other boyish property upon a table in the room. And 
then he laid him softly down once more, and asked if 
the little girl were there, for he could not see her. 

She stepped forward, and pressed the passive hand 
that lay upon the coverlet. The two old friends and 
companions — for such they were, though they were 
man and child — held each other in a long embrace, 
and then the little scholar turned his face towards the 
wall, and fell asleep. 

The poor schoolmaster sat in the same place, holding 
the small cold hand in his, and chafing it. It was but 
the hand of a dead child. He felt that ; and yet he 
chafed it still, and could not lay it down. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


281 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

Almost broken-hearted, Nell withdrew with the 
schoolmaster from the bedside and returned to his cot- 
tage, In the midst of her grief and tears she was yet 
careful to conceal their real cause from the old man, 
for the dead boy had been a grandchild, and left but 
one aged relative to mourn his premature decay. 

She stole away to bed as quickly as she could, and 
when she was alone, gave free vent to the sorrow with 
which her breast was overcharged. But the sad scene 
she had witnessed, was not without its lesson of con- 
tent and gratitude ; of content with the lot which left 
her health and freedom ; and gratitude that she was 
spared to the one relative and friend she loved, and to 
live and move in a beautiful world, when so many young 
creatures — as young and full of hope as she — were 
stricken down and gathered to their graves. How many 
of the mounds in that old church-yard where she had 
lately strayed, grew green above the graves of children ! 
And though she thought as a child herself, and did not 
perhaps sufficiently consider to what a bright and happy 
existence those who die young are borne, and how in 
death they lose the pain of seeing others die around 
them, bearing to the tomb some strong affection of their 
hearts (which makes the old die many times in one long 
life), still she thought wisely enough, to draw a plain 


282 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


and easy moral from what she had seen that night, and 
to store it, deep in her mind. 

Her dreams were of the little scholar : not coffined 
and covered up, but mingling with angels, and smiling 
happily. The sun darting his cheerful rays into the 
room, awoke her ; and now there remained but to take 
leave of the poor schoolmaster and wander forth once 
more. 

By the time they were ready to depart, school had 
begun. In the darkened room, the din of yesterday 
was going on again ; a little sobered and softened down, 
perhaps, but only a very little, if at all. The school- 
master rose from his desk and walked with them to 
the gate. 

It was with a trembling and reluctant hand, that the 
child held out to him the money which the lady had 
given her at the races for her flowers : faltering in her 
thanks as ‘she thought how small the sum was, and 
blushing as she offered it. But he bade her put it up, 
and stooping to kiss her cheek, turned back into his 
house. 

They had not gone half a dozen paces when he was 
at the door again ; the old man retraced his steps to 
shake hands, and. the child did the same. 

“ Good fortune and happiness go with you ! ” said 
the poor schoolmaster. “ I am quite a solitary man 
now. If you ever pass this way again, you’ll not forget 
the little village-school.” 

“We shall never forget it, sir,” rejoined Nell; “nor 
ever forget to be grateful to you for your kindness to 
us” 

“ I have heard such words from the lips of children 
very often,” said the schoolmaster, shaking his head, and 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


283 


smiling thoughtfully, “ but they were soon forgotten. I 
had attached one young friend to me, the better friend 
for being young — but that’s over — God bless you ! ” 

They bade him farewell very many times, and turned 
away, walking slowly and often looking back, until they 
could see him no more. At length they had left the 
village far behind, and even lost sight of the smoke 
among the trees. They trudged onward now, at a 
quicker pace, resolving to keep the main road, and go 
wherever it might lead them. 

But main roads stretch a long, long way. With the 
exception of two or three inconsiderable clusters of 
cottages which they passed, without stopping, and one 
lonely roadside public house where they had some bread 
and cheese, this highway had led them to nothing — 
late in the afternoon — and still lengthened out, far in 
the distance, the same dull, tedious, winding course, that 
they had been pursuing all day. As they had no re- 
source, however, but to go forward, they still kept on, 
though at a much slower pace, being very weary and 
fatigued. 

The afternoon had worn away into a beautiful even- 
ing, when they arrived at a point where the road made 
a sharp turn and struck across a common. On the 
border of this common, and close to the hedge which 
divided it from the cultivated fields, a caravan was 
drawn up to rest ; upon which, by reason of its situa- 
tion, they came so suddenly that they could not have 
avoided it if they would. 

It was not a shabby, dingy, dusty cart, but a smart 
little house upon wheels, with white dimity curtains 
festooning the windows, and window-shutters of green 
picked out with panels of a staring red, in which hap- 


284 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


pily-contrasted colors the whole concern shone brilliant. 
Neither was it a poor caravan drawn by a single donkey 
or emaciated horse, for a pair of horses in pretty good 
condition were released from the shafts and grazing on 
the frowzy grass. Neither was it a gypsy caravan, for at 
the open door (graced with a bright brass knocker) sat 
a Christian lady, stout and comfortable to look upon, who 
wore a large bonnet trembling with bows. And that it 
was not an unprovided or destitute caravan was clear 
from this lady’s occupation, which was the very pleasant 
and refreshing one of taking tea. The tea-things, includ- 
ing a bottle of rather suspicious character and a cold 
knuckle of ham, were set forth upon a drum, covered 
with a white napkin ; and there, as if at the most con- 
venient round-table in all the world, sat this roving 
lady, taking her tea and enjoying the prospect. 

It happened that at that moment the lady of the 
caravan had her cup (which, that everything about her 
might be of a stout and comfortable kind, was a break* 
fast-cup) to her lips, and that having her eyes lifted to 
the sky in her enjoyment of the full flavor of the tea 
not unmingled possibly with just the slightest dash or 
gleam of something out of the suspicious bottle — but 
this is mere speculation and not distinct matter of his- 
tory — it happened that being thus agreeably engaged, 
she did not see the travellers when they first came up. It 
was not until she was in the act of setting down the cup 
and drawing a long breath after the exertion of causing 
its contents to disappear, that the lady of the caravan 
beheld an old man and a young child walking slowly 
by, and glancing at her proceedings with eyes of modest 
but hungry admiration. 

“ B y?” cried the lady of the caravan, scooping the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


285 


crumbs out of her lap and swallowing the same before 
wiping her lips. “ Yes, to be sure. — Who won the 
Helter-Skelter Plate, child ! ” 

“ Won what, ma’am ? ” asked Nell. 

“ The Helter-Skelter Plate at the races, child — the 
plate that was run for on the second day.” 

“ On the second day, ma’am ? ” 

“Second day! Yes, second day,” repeated the lady 
with an air of impatience. “ Can’t you say who won 
the Helter-Skelter Plate when you’re asked the question 
civilly?” 

“ I don’t know, ma’am.” 

“ Don’t know ! ” repeated the lady of the caravan ; 
“ why, you were there. I saw you with my own eyes.” 

Nell was not a little alarmed to hear this, supposing 
that the lady might be intimately acquainted with the 
firm of Short and Codlin ; but what followed tended to 
reassure her. 

“And very sorry I was,” said the lady of the caravan, 
“ to see you in company with a Punch ; a low, prac- 
tical, wulgar wretch, that people should scorn to look 
at.” 

“ I was not there by choice,” returned the child ; “ we 
didn’t know our way, and the two men were very kind 
to us, and let us travel with them. Do you — do you 
know them, ma’am ? ” 

“ Know ’em, child ! ” cried the lady of the caravan in 
a sort of shriek. “ Know them / But you’re young and 
inexperienced, and that’s your excuse for asking sich a 
question. Do I look as if I know’d ’em, does the cara- 
van look as if it know’d ’em ? ” 

“ No, ma’am, no,” said the child, fearing she had cost 
mitted some grievous fault. “ I beg your pardon.” 


286 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


It was granted immediately, though the lady still ap- 
peared much ruffled and discomposed by the degrading 
supposition. The child then explained that they had 
left the races on the first day, and were travelling to 
the next town on that road, where they purposed to 
spend the night. As the countenance of the stout lady 
began to clear up, she ventured to inquire how far it 
was. The reply — which the stout lady did not come 
to, until she had thoroughly explained that she went to 
the races on the first day in a gig, and as an expedi- 
tion of pleasure, and that her presence there had no 
connection with any matters of business or profit — was, 
that the town was eight miles off. 

This discouraging information a little dashed the child, 
who could scarcely repress a tear as she glanced along 
the darkening road. Her grandfather made no com- 
plaint, but he sighed heavily as he leaned upon his 
staff, and vainly tried to pierce the dusty distance. 

The lady of the caravan was in the act of gather- 
ing her tea-equipage together preparatory to clearing 
the table, but noting the child’s anxious maimer she 
hesitated and stopped. The child courtesied, thanked 
her for her information, and giving her hand to the old 
man had already got some fifty yards or so, away, when 
the lady of the caravan called to her to return. 

“ Come nearer, nearer still ” — said she, beckoning to 
her to ascend the steps. “ Are you hungry, child ? ” 

“ Not very, but we are tired, and it’s — it is a long 
way ” — 

“ Well, hungry or not, you had better have some tea,” 
rejoined her new acquaintance. “ I suppose you are 
agreeable to that, old gentleman ? ” 

The grandfather humbly pulled off his hat and thanked 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


287 


her. The lady of the caravan then bade him come 
up the steps likewise, but the drum proving an incon- 
venient table for two, they descended again and sat 
upon the grass, where she handed down to them the 
tea-tray, the bread and butter, the knuckle of ham, and 
in short everything of which she had partaken heiself 
except the bottle, which she had already embraced an 
opportunity of slipping into her pocket. 

“ Set’em out near the hind wheels, child, that’s the 
best place ” — said their friend, superintending the ar- 
rangements from above. “Now hand up the teapot 
for a little more hot water, and a pinch of fresh tea, 
and then both of you eat and drink as much as you 
can, and don’t spare anything ; that’s all I ask of 
you.” 

They might perhaps have carried out the lady’s wish, 
if it had been less freely expressed, or even if it had 
not been expressed at all. But as this direction relieved 
them from any shadow of delicacy or uneasiness, they 
made a hearty meal and enjoyed it to the utmost. 

While they were thus engaged, the lady of the cara- 
van alighted on the earth, and with her hands clasped 
behind her, and her large bonnet trembling excessively, 
walked up and down in a measured . tread and very 
stately manner, surveying the caravan from time to time 
with an air of calm delight, and deriving particular 
gratification from the red panels and the brass knocker. 
When she had taken this gentle exercise for some time, 
ghe sat down upon the steps and called “ George ” ; 
whereupon a man in a carter’s frock, who had been so 
shrouded in a hedge up to this time as to see everything 
that passed without being seen himself, parted the twigs 
that concealed him, and appeared in a sitting attitude, 


288 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


supporting on his legs a baking-dish and a half-gallon 
stone-bottle, and bearing in his right hand a knife, and 
in his left a fork. 

“Yes, Missus,” said George. 

“ How did you find the cold pie, George ? ” 

“It warn’t amiss, mum.” 

“And the beer,” said the lady of the caravan, with 
an appearance of being more interested in this question 
than the last ; “is it passable, George ? ” 

“ It’s more flatterer than it might be,” George re- 
turned, “ but it an’t so bad for all that.” 

To set the mind of his mistress at rest, he took a 
sip (amounting in quantity to a pint or thereabouts) 
from the stone-bottle, and then smacked his lips, winked 
his eye, and nodded his head. No doubt with the same 
amiable desire, he immediately resumed his knife and 
fork, as a practical assurance that the beer had wrought 
no bad effect upon his appetite. 

The lady of the caravan looked on approvingly for 
some time, and then said, — 

“ Have you nearly finished ? ” 

“ Wery nigh, Mum.” And indeed, after scraping the 
dish all round with his knife, and carrying the choice 
brown morsels to his mouth, and after taking such a 
scientific pull at the stone-bottle that, by degrees almost 
imperceptible to the sight, his head went farther and 
farther back until he lay nearly at his full length upon 
the ground, this gentleman declared himself quite dis- 
engaged, and came forth from his retreat. 

“ I hope I haven’t hurried you, George,” said his mis- 
tress, who appeared to have a great sympathy with his 
late pursuit. 

“ If you have,” returned the follower, wisely reserv- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


289 


mg himself for any favorable contingency that might 
occur, “ we must make up for it next time, that’s all.” 

“We are not a heavy load, George ? ” 

“ That’s always what the ladies say,” replied the man, 
looking a long way round, as if he were appealing to 
Nature in general against such monstrous propositions. 
“ If you see a woman a-driving, you’ll always perceive 
that she never will keep her whip still ; the horse can’t 
go fast enough for her. If cattle have got their proper 
load, you never can persuade a woman that they’ll not 
bear something more. What is the cause of this here ! ” 

“ Would these two travellers make much difference 
to the horses, if we took them with us ? ” asked his 
mistress, offering no reply to the philosophical inquiry, 
and pointing to Nell and the old man, who were pain- 
fully preparing to resume their journey on foot. 

“They’d make a difference in course,” said George 
doggedly. 

“ Would they make much difference ? ” repeated his 
mistress. “ They can’t be very heavy.” 

“ The weight o’ the pair, Mum,” said George, eying 
them with the look of a man who was calculating within 
half an ounce or so, “ would be a trifle under that of 
Oliver Cromwell.” 

Nell was very much surprised that the man should 
be so accurately acquainted with the weight of one whom 
she had read of in books as having lived considerably 
before their time, but speedily forgot the subject in the 
joy of hearing that they were to go forward in the cara- 
van, for which she thanked its lady with unaffected 
earnestness. She helped with great readiness and alac- 
rity to put away the tea-things and other matters that 
were lying about, and, the horses being by that time 

VOL. I. 19 


290 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


harnessed, mounted into the vehicle, followed by her 
delighted grandfather. Their patroness then shut the 
door and sat herself down by her drum at an open 
window ; and, the steps being struck by George and 
stowed under the carriage, away they went, with a great 
noise of flapping and creaking and straining; and the 
bright brass knocker, which nobody ever knocked at, 
knocking one perpetual double knock of its own accord 
as they jolted heavily along. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


291 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

When they had travelled slowly forward for some 
ghort distance, Nell ventured to steal a look round the 
caravan and observe it more closely. One half of it — 
that moiety in which the comfortable proprietress was 
then seated — was carpeted, and so partitioned off at 
the further end as to accommodate a sleeping-place, 
constructed after the fashion of a berth on board ship, 
which was shaded, like the little windows, with fair 
white curtains, and looked comfortable enough, though 
by what kind of gymnastic exercise the lady of the 
caravan ever contrived to get into it, was an unfathom- 
able mystery. The other half served for a kitchen, 
and was fitted up with a stove whose small chimney 
passed through the roof. It held also a closet or larder, 
several chests, a great pitcher of water, and a few 
cooking utensils and articles of crockery. These latter 
necessaries hung upon the walls, which, in that portion 
of the establishment devoted to the lady of the cara- 
van, were ornamented with Such gayer and lighter dec- 
orations as a triangle and a couple of well-thumbed 
tambourines. 

The lady of the caravan sat at one window in all 
the pride and poetry of the musical instruments, and 
little Nell and her grandfather sat at the other in all 
the humility of the kettle and saucepans, while the 


292 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


machine jogged on and shifted the darkening prospect 
very slowly. At first the two travellers spoke little, 
and only in whispers, but as they grew more familiar 
with the place they ventured to converse with greater 
freedom, and talked about the country through which 
they were passing, and the different objects that pres- 
ented themselves until the old man fell asleep ; which 
the lady of the caravan observing, invited Nell to come 
and sit beside her. 

“ Well, child,” she said, “ how do you like this way 
of travelling ? ” 

Nell replied that she thought it was very pleasant 
indeed, to which the lady assented in the case of people 
who had their spirits. For herself, she said, she was 
troubled with a lowness in that respect which required 
a constant stimulant ; though whether the aforesaid 
stimulant was derived from the suspicious bottle of 
which mention has been already made, or from other 
sources, she did not say. 

“ That’s the happiness of you young people,” she con- 
tinued. “ You don’t know what it is to be low in your 
feelings. You always have your appetites too, and what 
a comfort that is.” 

Nell thought that she could sometimes dispense with 
her own appetite very conveniently ; and thought more* 
over, that there was nothing either in the lady’s per- 
gonal appearance or in her manner of taking tea, to 
lead to the conclusion that her natural relish for meat 
and drink had at all failed her. She silently assented, 
how*ever, as in duty bound, to what the lady had said, 
and waited until she should speak again. 

Instead of speaking, however, she sat looking at the 
thild for a long time in silence, and then getting up, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


293 


brought out from a corner a large roll of canvas about 
a yard in width, which she laid upon the floor and 
spread open with her foot until it nearly reached from 
one end of the caravan to the other. 

“ There, child,” she said, “ read that.” 

Nell walked down it, and read aloud, in enormous 
black letters, the inscription, “ Jarlet’s Wax-Work.” 

“ Read it again,” said the lady, complacently. 

“ Jarley’s Wax-Work,” repeated Nell. 

“ That’s me,” said the lady. “ I am Mrs. Jarley.” 

Giving the child an encouraging look, intended to 
reassure her and let her know, that, although she stood 
in the presence of the original Jarley, she must not 
allow herself to be utterly overwhelmed and borne 
down, the lady of the caravan unfolded another scroll, 
whereon was the inscription, “ One hundred figures the 
full size of life,” and then another scroll, on which was 
written, “ The only stupendous collection of real wax- 
work in the world,” and then several smaller scrolls 
with such inscriptions as “ Now exhibiting within.” — 
u The genuine and only Jarley ” — “ Jarley’s unrivalled 
collection ” — “ Jarley is the delight of the Nobility 
and Gentry” — “The Royal Family are the patrons 
of Jarley.” When she had exhibited these leviathans 
of public announcement to the astonished child, she 
brought forth specimens of the lesser fry in the shape 
of hand-bills, some of which were couched in the form 
of parodies on popular melodies, as “ Believe me if all 
Jarley’s wax- work so rare ” — “I saw thy show in 
youthful prime ” * — “ Over the water to Jarley ; ” while, 
to consult all tastes, others were composed with a view 
to the lighter and more facetious spirits, as a parody on 
the favorite air of “ If I had a donkey,” beginning 


294 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


If I know’d a donkey wot wouldn’t go 
To see Mrs. Jarley’s wax-work show 
Do you think I’d acknowledge him ? 

Oh no, no ! 

Then run to Jarley’s — 

— besides several compositions in prose, purporting to 
be dialogues between the Emperor of China and an 
oyster, or the Archbishop of Canterbury and a dissenter 
on the subject of church-rates, but all having the same 
moral, namely, that the reader must make haste to 
Jarley’s, and that children and servants were admitted 
at half-price. When she had brought all these tes- 
timonials of her important position in society to bear 
upon her young companion, Mrs. Jarley rolled them up, 
and having put them carefully away, sat down again, 
and looked at the child in triumph. 

“ Never go into the company of a filthy Punch any 
more,” said Mrs. Jarley, “ after this.” 

“ I never saw any wax- work, ma’am,” said Nell. “ Is 
it funnier than Punch ? ” 

“ Funnier ! ” said Mrs. Jarley in a shrill voice. “ It is 
not funny at all.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Nell, with all possible humility. 

“ It isn’t funny at all,” repeated Mrs. Jarley. “ It’s 
calm and — what’s that word again — critical ? — no — 
classical, that’s it — it’s calm and classical. No low 
beatings and knockings about, no jokings and squeak- 
ings like your precious Punches, but always the same, 
with a constantly unchanging air of coldness and gen- 
tility ; and so like life, that if wax-work only spoke and 
walked about, you’d hardly know the difference. I 
Won’t go so far as to say, that, as it is, I’ve seen wax- 
work quite like life, but I’ve certainly seen some life 
that was exactly like wax-work.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


295 


“Is it here, ma’am?” asked Nell, whose curiosity 
was awakened by this description. 

“ Is what here, child ? ” 

“The wax-work, ma’am.” 

“ Why, bless you, child, what are you thinking of 
how could such a collection be here, where you see 
everything except the inside of one little cupboard and 
a few boxes? It’s gone on in the other wans to the 
assembly-rooms, and there it ’ll be exhibited the day 
after to-morrow. You are going to the same town, 
and you’ll see it I dare say. It’s natural to expect 
that you’ll see it, and I’ve no doubt you will. I sup- 
pose you couldn’t stop away if you was to try ever so 
much.” 

“ I shall not be in the town, I think, ma’am,” said 
the child. 

“Not there !” cried Mrs. Jarley. “Then where will 
you be?” 

“I — I — don’t quite know. I am not certain.” 

“ You don’t mean to say that you’re travelling about 
the country without knowing where you’re going to ? ” 
said the lady of the caravan. “What curious people 
you are ! What line are you in ? You looked to me 
at the races, child, as if you were quite out of your 
element, and had got there by accident.” 

“We were there quite by accident,” returned Nell, 
confused by this abrupt questioning. <l We are poor 
people, ma’am, and are only wandering about. We have 
nothing to do ; — I wish we had.” 

“ You amaze me more and more,” said Mrs. Jarley, 
liter remaining for some time as mute as one of her 
*wn figures. “ Why, what do you call yourselves ? Not 
beggars ? ” 


296 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Indeed, ma’am, I don’t know what else we are,* 
returned the child. 

“ Lord bless me,” said the lady of the caravan. “ I 
never heard of such a thing. Who’d have thought 
it!” 

She remained so long silent after this exclamation 
that Nell feared she felt her having been induced to 
bestow her protection and conversation upon one so 
poor, to be an outrage upon her dignity that nothing 
could repair. This persuasion was rather confirmed 
than otherwise by the tone in which she at length broke 
silence and said, — 

“And yet you can read. And write too, I shouldn’t 
wonder ? ” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said the child, fearful of giving new 
offence by the confession. 

“ Well, and what a thing that is,” returned Mrs. Jar- 
ley. “/ can’t ! ” 

Nell said “indeed” in a tone which might imply, 
either that she was reasonably surprised to find the gen- 
uine and only Jarley, who was the delight of the Nobil- 
ity and Gentry and the peculiar pet of the Royal Fam- 
ily, destitute of these familiar arts ; or that she presumed 
so great a lady could scarcely stand in need of such 
ordinary accomplishments. In whatever way Mrs. Jar- 
ley received the response, it did not provoke her to 
further questioning, or tempt her into any more remark 
at the time, for she relapsed into a thoughtful silence 
and remained in that state so long that Nell withdrew 
to the other window and rejoined her grandfather, who 
was now awake. 

At length the lady of the caravan shook off her fit 
of meditation, and, summoning the driver to come under 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


297 


the window at which she was seated, held a long conver- 
sation with him in a low tone of voice, as if she were 
asking his advice on an important point, and discussing 
the pros and cons of some very weighty matter. This 
conference at length concluded, she drew in her head 
again, and beckoned Nell to approach. 

“ And the old gentleman too,” said Mrs. Jarley ; “ for 
I want to have a word with him. Do you want a good 
situation for your grand-daughter, master ? If you do, I 
can put her in the way of getting one. What do you 
say ? ” 

“I can’t leave her,” answered the old man. “We 
can’t separate. What would become of me without her?” 

“ I should have thought you were old enough to take 
care of yourself, if you ever will be,” retorted Mrs. Jar- 
ley sharply. 

“ But he never will be,” said the child in an earnest 
whisper. “ I fear he never will be again. Pray do not 
speak harshly to him. We are very thankful to you,” 
she added aloud ; “ but neither of us could part from the 
other if all the wealth of the world were halved between 
us.” 

Mrs. Jarley was a little disconcerted by this reception 
of her proposal, and looked at the old man, who tenderly 
took Nell’s hand and detained it in his own, as if she 
could have very well dispensed with his company or even 
his earthly existence. After an awkward pause, she 
thrust her head out of the window again, and had 
another conference with the driver upon some point on 
which they did not seem to agree quite so readily as on 
their former topic of discussion ; but they concluded at 
iast, and she addressed the grandfather again. 

“If you’re really disposed to employ yourself,” said 


298 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Mrs. Jarley, u there would be plenty for you to do in the 
way of helping to dust the figures, and take the checks, 
and so forth. What I want your grand-daughter for, is 
to point ’em out to the company ; they would be soon 
learnt, and she has a way with her that people wouldn’t 
think unpleasant, though she does come after me ; for 
I’ve been always accustomed to go round with visi- 
tors myself, which I should keep on doing now, only 
that my spirits make a little ease absolutely necessary 
It’s not a common offer, bear in mind,” said the lady, 
rising into the tone and manner in which she was accus- 
tomed to address her audiences ; “ it’s Jarley’s wax-work, 
remember. The duty’s very light and genteel, the com- 
pany particular select, the exhibition takes place in as- 
sembly-rooms, town-halls, large rooms at inns, or auction 
galleries. There is none of your open-air wagrancy at 
Jarley’s, recollect ; there is no tarpaulin and sawdust at 
Jarley’s, remember. Every expectation held out in the 
handbills is realized to the utmost, and the whole forms 
an effect of imposing brilliancy hitherto unrivalled in 
this kingdom. Remember that the price of admission 
is only sixpence, and that this is an opportunity which 
may never occur again ! ” 

Descending from the sublime when she had reached 
this point, to the details of common life, Mrs. Jarley re- 
marked that wfith reference td salary she could pledge 
herself to no specific sum until she had sufficiently tested 
Nell’s abilities, and narrowly watched her in the per- 
formance of her duties. But board and lodging, both for 
aer and her grandfather, she bound herself to provide, 
and she furthermore passed her word that the board 
should always be good in quality, and in quantity plen- 
tiful. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


299 


Nell and her grandfather consulted together, and while 
they were so engaged, Mrs. Jarley with her hands be- 
hind her walked lip and down the caravan, as she had 
walked after tea on the dull earth, with uncommon dig- 
nity and self-esteem. Nor will this appear so slight a 
circumstance as to be unworthy of mention, when it is 
remembered that the caravan was in uneasy motion all 
the time, and that none but a person of great natural 
stateliness and acquired grace could have forborne to 
stagger. 

“ Now child,” said Mrs. Jarley, coming to a halt as 
Nell turned towards her. 

“We are very much obliged to you, ma’am,” said 
Nell, “ and thankfully accept your offer.” 

“And you’ll never be sorry for it,” returned Mrs. 
Jarley. “ I’m pretty sure of that. So as that’s all 
settled, let us have a bit of supper.” 

In the meanwhile, the caravan blundered on as if it 
too had been drinking strong beer and was drowsy, and 
came at last upon the paved streets of a town which 
were clear of passengers, and quiet, for it was by this 
time near midnight and the townspeople were all abed. 
As it was too late an hour to repair to the exhibition 
room, they turned aside into a piece of waste ground that 
lay just within the old town-gate, and drew up there for 
the night, near to another caravan, which, notwithstand 
ing that it bore on the lawful panel the great name of 
Jarley, and was employed besides in conveying from 
pla:e to place the wax-work which was its country’s pride, 
was designated by a grovelling stamp-office as a “ Com- 
mon Stage Wagon” and numbered too — seven thousand 
odd hundred — as though its precious freight were mere 
flour or coals! 


300 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


This ill-used machine being empty (for it had depos- 
ited its burden at the place of exhibition, and lingered 
here until its services were again required) was as- 
signed to the old man as his sleeping-place for the 
night; and within its wooden walls, Nell made him up 
the best bed she could, from the materials at hand. 
For herself, she was to sleep in Mrs. Jarley’s own trav- 
elling-carriage, as a signal mark of that lady’s favor and 
confidence. 

She had taken leave of her grandfather and was re- 
turning to the other wagon, when she was tempted by 
the pleasant coolness of the night to linger for a little 
while in the air. The moon was shining down upon the 
old gateway of the town, leaving the low archway very 
black and dark ; and with a mingled sensation of curios- 
ity and fear, she slowly approached the gate, and stood 
still to look up at it, wondering to see how dark, and 
grim, and old, and cold it looked. 

There was an empty niche from which some old 
statue had fallen or been carried away hundreds of years 
ago, and she was thinking what strange people it must 
have looked down upon when it stood there, and how 
many hard struggles might have taken place, and how 
many murders might have been done, upon that silent 
spot, when there suddenly emerged from the black shade 
of the arch, a man. The instant he appeared, she re- 
cognized him — Who could have failed to recognize, in 
that instant, the ugly misshapen Quilp ! 

The street beyond was so narrow, and the shadow of 
the houses on one side of the way so deep, that he seemed 
to have risen out of the earth. But there he was. The 
child withdrew into a dark corner, and saw him pass close 
to her. He had a stick in his hand, and, when he had 


THE OLD CURIOSTY SHOP. 


301 


got clear of the shadow of the gateway, he leant upon it, 
looked back — directly, as it seemed, towards where she 
stood — and beckoned. 

To her? oh no, thank God, not to her; for as she 
6tood, in an extremity of fear, hesitating whether to 
scream for help, or come from her hiding-place and fly, 
before he should draw nearer, there issued slowly forth 
from the arch another figure — that of a boy — who 
carried on his back a trunk. 

“ Faster, sirrah ! ” said Quilp, looking up at the old 
gateway, and showing in the moonlight like some mon- 
strous image that had come down from its niche and was 
casting a backward glance at its old house, “ faster ! ” 

“ It’s a dreadful heavy load, sir,” the boy pleaded. 
“I’ve come on very fast, considering.” 

“ You have come fast, considering!” retorted Quilp; 
“ you creep, you dog, you crawl, you measure distance 
like a worm. There are the chimes now, half-past 
twelve.” 

He stopped to listen, and then turning upon the boy 
with a suddenness and ferocity that made him start, 
asked at what hour that London coach passed the corner 
of the road. The boy replied, at one. 

“ Come on then,” said Quilp, “ or I shall be too late. 
Faster — do you hear me ? Faster.” 

The boy made all the speed he could, and Quilp led 
onward, constantly turning back to threaten him, and 
urge him to greater haste. Nell did not dare to move 
until they were out of sight and hearing, and then hur- 
ried to where she had left her grandfather, feeling as if 
the very passing of the dwarf so near him must have 
filled him with alarm and terror. But he was sleeping 
soundly, and she softly withdrew. 


302 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


As she was making her way to her own bed, she de- 
termined to say nothing of this adventure, as upon what- 
ever errand the dwarf had come (and she feared it must 
have been in search of them) it was clear by his inquiry 
about the London coach that he was on his way home- 
ward, and as he had passed through that place, it was 
but reasonable to suppose that they were safer from his 
inquiries there, than they could be elsewhere. These 
reflections did not remove her own alarm, for she had 
been too much terrified to be easily composed, and felt 
as if she were hemmed in by a legion of Quilps, and the 
very air itself were filled with them. 

The delight of the Nobility and Gentry and the pat- 
ronized of Royalty had, by some process of self-abridg- 
ment known only to herself, got into her travelling-bed 
where she was snoring peacefully, while the large bonnet, 
carefully disposed upon the drum, was revealing its glo- 
ries by the light of a dim lamp that swung from the 
roof. The child’s bed was already made upon the floor, 
and it was a great comfort to her to hear the steps re- 
moved as soon as she had entered, and to know that all 
easy communication between persons outside and the 
brass knocker was by this means effectually prevented. 
Certain guttural sounds, too, which from time to time as- 
cended through the floor of the caravan, and a rustling 
of straw in the same direction, apprised her that the 
driver was couched on the ground beneath, and gave her 
an additional feeling of security. 

Notwithstanding these protections, she could get none 
but broken sleep by fits and starts all night, for fear of 
Quilp, who throughout her uneasy dreams was some- 
how connected with the wax-work, or w T as wax-work 
himself, or was Mrs. Jarley and wax-work too, or was 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


303 


himself, Mrs. Jarley, wax-work, and a barrel-organ all 
in one, and yet not exactly any of them either. At 
length, towards break of day, that deep sleep came upon 
her which succeeds to weariness and overwatching, and 
which has no consciousness but one of overpowering and 
irresistible enjoyment. 


■ 

>. •: :: »J • •' ■■'!> ' ' : - ;i 

. 

lUih'lr 












THE 

OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


VOLUME II. 















































THE 


OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Sleep hung upon the eyelids of the child so long, that, 
when she awoke, Mrs. Jarley was already decorated with 
her large bonnet, and actively engaged in preparing 
breakfast She received Nell’s apology for being so late 
with perfect good-humor, and said that she should not 
have roused her if she had slept on until noon. 

“ Because it does you good,” said the lady of the cara- 
van, “ when you’re tired, to sleep as long as ever you can, 
and get the fatigue quite off, and that’s another blessing 
of your time of life — you can sleep so very sound.” 

“ Have you had a bad night?” asked Nell. 

“I seldom have anything else, child,” replied Mrs. 
Jarley, with the air of a martyr. “ I sometimes wonder 
how I bear it.” 

Remembering the snores which had proceeded from 
that cleft in the caravan in which the proprietress of the 
wax-work passed the night, Nell rather thought she must 
have been dreaming of lying awake. However, she 
expressed herself very sorry to hear such a dismal 
account of her state of health, and shortly afterwards 
sat down with her grandfather and Mrs. Jarley to break- 


6 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 


fast. The meal finished, Nell assisted to wash the cups 
and saucers, and put them in their proper places, and 
these household duties performed, Mrs. Jarley arrayed 
herself in an exceedingly bright shawl for the purpose 
of making a progress through the streets of the town. 

“ The wan will come on to bring the boxes,” said Mrs. 
Jarley, “ and you had better come in it, child. I am 
obliged to walk, very much against my will ; but the 
people expect it of me, and public characters can’t be 
their own masters and mistresses in such matters as 
these. How do I look, child ? ” 

Nell returned a satisfactory reply, and Mrs. Jarley, 
after sticking a great many pins into various parts of 
her figure, and making several abortive attempts to ob- 
tain a full view of her own back, was at last satisfied 
with her appearance, and went forth majestically. 

The caravan followed at no great distance. As it 
went jolting through the streets, Nell peeped from the 
window, curious to see in what kind of place they were, 
and yet fearful of encountering at every turn the dreaded 
face of Quilp. It was a pretty large town, with an open 
square which they were crawling slowly across, and in 
the middle of which was the Town- Hall, with a clock- 
tower and a weathercock. There were houses of stone, 
Houses of red brick, houses of yellow brick, houses of 
lath and plaster ; and houses of wood, many of them 
very old, with withered faces carved upon the beams, 
and staring down into the street. These had very little 
winking windows, and low-arched doors, and, in some of 
the narrower ways, quite overhung the pavement. The 
streets were very clean, very sunny, very empty, and 
very dull. A few idle men lounged about the two inns, 
and the empty market-place, and the tradesmen’s doors, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


7 


and some old people were dozing in chairs outside an 
almshouse wall ; but scarcely any passengers who seemed 
bent on going anywhere, or to have any object in view, 
went by ; and if perchance some straggler did, his foot 
steps echoed on the hot bright pavement for minutes 
afterwards. Nothing seemed to be going on but the 
clocks, and they had such drowsy faces, such heavy lazy 
hands, and such cracked voices, that they surely must 
have been too slow. The very dogs were all asleep, 
and the flies, drunk with moist sugar in the grocer’s 
shop, forgot their wings and briskness, and baked to 
death in dusty corners of the window. 

Rumbling along with most unwonted noise, the cara- 
van stopped at last at the place of exhibition, where 
Nell dismounted amidst an admiring group of children, 
who evidently supposed her to be an important item 
of the curiosities, and were fully impressed with the be- 
lief that her grandfather was a cunning device in wax. 
The chests were taken out with all convenient despatch, 
and taken in to be unlocked by Mrs. Jarley, who, at- 
tended by George and another man in velveteen shorts 
and a drab hat ornamented with turnpike tickets, were 
waiting to dispose their contents (consisting of red fes- 
toons and other ornamental devices in upholstery work) 
to the best advantage in the decoration of the room. 

They all got to work without loss of time, and very 
busy they were. As the stupendous collection Were yet 
concealed by cloths, lest the envious dust should injure 
their complexions, Nell bestirred herself to assist in the 
embellishment of the room, in which her grandfather 
also was of great service. The two men being well 
used to it, did a great deal in a short time ; and Mrs. 
Jarley served out the tin tacks from a linen pocket like 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


8 

a toll-collector’s, which she wore for the purpose, and en- 
couraged her assistants to renewed exertion. 

While they were thus employed, a tallish gentleman 
with a hook nose and black hair, dressed in a military 
surtout very short and tight in the sleeves, and which 
had once been frogged and braided all over, but was 
now sadly shorn of its garniture and quite threadbare — 
dressed too in ancient gray pantaloons fitting tight to 
the leg, and a pair of pumps in the winter of their exist- 
ence — * looked in at the door, and smiled affably. Mrs. 
Jarley’s back being then towards him, the military gen- 
tleman shook his forefinger as a sign that her myrmi- 
dons were not to apprise her of his presence, and steal- 
ing up close behind her, tapped her on the neck, and 
cried playfully “ Boh ! ” 

“ What, Mr. Slum ! ” cried the lady of the wax-work. 
“ Lor’ ! who’d have thought of seeing you here ! ” 

“ ’Pon my soul and honor,” said Mr. Slum, “ that’s 
a good remark. ’Pon my soul and honor that’s a wise 
remark. Who would have thought it ! George, my 
faithful feller, how are you ? ” 

George received this advance with a surly indiffer- 
ence, observing that he was well enough for the mat- 
ter of that, and hammering lustily all the time. 

“ I came here,” said the military gentleman, turning 
lo Mrs. Jarley, — “ ’pon my soul and honor I hardly 
know what I came here for. It would puzzle me to 
tell you, it would by Gad. I wanted a little inspira- 
tion, a little freshening up, a little change of ideas, and 
’Pon my soul and honor,” said the military gen- 
tleman, checking himself and looking round the room, 
6 what a devilish classical thing this is ! By Gad, it’s 
quite Minervian ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


9 


“ It’ll look well enough when it comes to be finished,” 
observed Mrs. Jarley. 

“ Well enough ! ” said Mr. Slum. “ Will you believe 
me when I say it’s the delight of my life to have dab- 
bled in poetry, when I think I’ve exercised my pen upon 
this charming theme ? By the way — any orders ? Is 
there any little thing I can do for you ? ” 

u It comes so very expensive, sir,” replied Mrs. Jar- 
ley, “ and I really don’t think it does much good.” 

“ Hush ! No, no ! ” returned Mr. Slum, elevating his 
hand. “ No fibs. I’ll not hear it. Don’t say it don’t 
do good. Don’t say it. I know better ! ” 
u I don’t think it does,” said Mrs. Jarley. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” cried Mr. Slum, “ you’re giving way, 
you’re coming down. Ask the perfumers, ask the black- 
ing-makers, ask the hatters, ask the old lottery-office 
keepers — ask any man among ’em what my poetry has 
done for him, and mark my words, he blesses the name 
of Slum. If he’s an honest man, he raises his eyes 
to heaven, and blesses the name of Slum — mark 
that! You are acquainted with Westminster Abbey, 
Mrs. Jarley?” 

“ Yes, surely.” 

“ Then upon my soul and honor, ma’am, you’ll find in 
a certain angle of that dreary pile, called Poets’ Corner, 
a few smaller names than Slum,” retorted that gentle- 
man, tapping himself expressively on the forehead to 
imply that there was some slight quantity of brains be- 
hind it. “I’ve got a little trifle here, now,” said Mr. 
Slum, taking off his hat which was full of scraps of 
paper, “ a little trifle here, thrown off in the heat of 
the moment, which I should say was exactly the thing 
you wanted to set this place on fire with. It’s an 


10 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


acrostic — the name at this moment is Warren, but the 
idea’s a convertible one, and a positive inspiration for 
Jarley. Have the acrostic.” 

“ 1 suppose it’s very dear,” said Mrs. Jarley. 

“ Five shillings,” returned Mr. Slum, using his pencil 
as a tooth-pick. “ Cheaper than any prose.” 

u I couldn’t give more than three,” said Mrs. Jarley. 

“ — And six,” retorted Slum. “ Come. Three-and-six.” 

Mrs. Jarley was not proof against the poet’s insinuat- 
ing manner, and Mr. Slum entered the order in a small 
note-book as a three-and-sixpenny one. Mr. Slum then 
withdrew to alter the acrostic, after taking a most af- 
fectionate leave of his patroness, and promising to re- 
turn, as soon as he possibly could, with a fair copy for 
the printer. 

As his presence had not interfered with or inter- 
rupted the preparations, they were now far advanced, 
and were completed shortly after his departure. When 
the festoons were all put up as tastily as they might 
be, the stupendous collection was uncovered, and there 
were displayed, on a raised platform some two feet from 
the floor, running round the room and parted from the 
rude public by a crimson rope breast high, divers 
sprightly effigies of celebrated characters, singly and in 
groups, clad in glittering dresses of various climes and 
times, and standing more or less unsteadily upon their 
legs, with their eyes very wide open, and their nostrils 
very much inflated, and the muscles of their legs and 
arms very strongly developed, and all their countenances 
expressing great surprise. All the gentlemen were 
very pigeon-breasted and very blue about the beards ; 
and all the ladies were miraculous figures ; and all the 
ladies and all the gentlemen were looking intensely 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


11 


nowhere, and staring with extraordinary earnestness at 
nothing. 

When Nell had exhausted her first raptures at this 
glorious sight, Mrs. Jarley ordered the room to be 
cleared of all but herself and the child, and, sitting 
herself down in an arm-chair in the centre, formally 
invested Nell with a willow wand, long used by herself 
for pointing out the characters, and was at great pains 
to instruct her in her duty. 

“ That,” said Mrs. Jarley in her exhibition tone, as 
Nell touched a figure at the beginning of the platform, 
“is an unfortunate Maid of Honor, in the Time of 
Queen Elizabeth, who died from pricking her finger in 
consequence of working upon a Sunday. Observe the 
blood which is trickling from her finger ; also the gold- 
eyed needle of the period, with which she is at work.” 

All this Nell repeated twice or thrice : pointing to 
the finger and the needle at the right times : and then 
passed on to the next. 

“ That, ladies and gentlemen,” said Mrs. Jarley, “ is 
Jasper Packlemerton of atrocious memory, who courted 
and married fourteen wives, and destroyed them all, 
by tickling the soles of their feet when they was sleep- 
ing in the consciousness of innocence and virtue. On 
being brought to the scaffold and asked if he was sorry 
for what he had done, he replied yes, he was sorry for 
having let ’em off so easy, and hoped all Christian 
husbands would pardon him the offence. Let this be 
a warning to all young ladies to be particular in the 
character of the gentlemen of their choice. Observe 
that his fingers are curled as if in the act of tickling, 
and that his face is represented with a wink, as be 
appeared when committing his barbarous murders.” 


12 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


When Nell knew all about Mr. Packlemerton, and 
could say it without faltering, Mrs. Jarley passed on to 
the fat man, and then to the thin man, the tall man, the 
short man, the old lady who died of dancing at a hundred 
and thirty-two, the wild boy of the woods, the woman 
who poisoned fourteen families with pickled walnuts, 
and other historical characters and interesting but mis- 
guided individuals. And so well did Nell profit by her 
instructions, and so apt was she to remember them, that 
by the time they had been shut up together for a couple 
of hours, she was in full possession of the history of the 
whole establishment, and perfectly competent to the en- 
lightenment of visitors. 

Mrs. Jarley was not slow to express her admiration 
at this happy result, and carried her young friend and 
pupil to inspect the remaining arrangements within doors, 
by virtue of which the passage had been already con- 
verted into a grove of green baize hung with the in- 
scriptions she had already seen (Mr. Slum’s produc- 
tions), and a highly ornamented table placed at the 
upper end for Mrs. Jarley herself, at which she was to 
preside and take the money, in company with his Majesty 
King George the Third, Mr. Grimaldi as clown, Mary 
Queen of Scots, an anonymous gentleman of the Quaker 
persuasion, and Mr. Pitt holding in his hand a correct 
model of the bill for the imposition of the window duty. 
The preparations without doors had not been neglected 
either; a nun of great personal attractions was telling 
her beads on the little portico over the door; and a 
brigand with the blackest possible head of hair, and the 
clearest possible complexion, was at that moment going 
round the town in a cart, consulting the miniaiure of a 
lady. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 13 

It now only remained that Mr. Slum’s compositions 
should be judiciously distributed ; that the pathetic ef- 
fusions should find their way to all private houses and 
tradespeople ; and that the parody commencing “ If I 
know’d a donkey,” should be confined to the taverns, 
and circulated only among the lawyers’ clerks and 
choice spirits of the place. When this had been done, 
and Mrs. Jarley had waited upon the boarding-schools 
in person, with a handbill composed expressly for them, 
in which it was distinctly proved that wax-work refined 
the mind, cultivated the taste, and enlarged the sphere 
of the human understanding, that indefatigable lady sat 
down to dinner, and drank out of the suspicious bottle 
to a flourishing campaign. 


14 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 




CHAPTER XXIX. 

Unquestionably Mrs. Jarley had an inventive 
genius. In the midst of the various devices for attract- 
ing visitors to the exhibition, little Nell was not for- 
gotten. The light cart in which the Brigand usually 
made his perambulations being gayly dressed with flags 
and streamers, and the Brigand placed therein, con- 
templating the miniature of his beloved as usual, Nell 
was accommodated with a seat beside him, decorated 
with artificial flowers, and in this state and ceremony 
rode slowly through the town every morning, dispers- 
ing handbills from a basket, to the sound of drum and 
trumpet. The beauty of the child, coupled with her 
gentle and timid bearing, produced quite a sensation in 
the little country-place. The Brigand, heretofore a 
source of exclusive interest in the streets, became a 
mere secondary consideration, and to be important only 
as a part of the show of which she was the chief at- 
traction. Grown-up folks began to be interested in the 
bright-eyed girl, and some score of little boys fell des- 
perately in love, and constantly left inclosures of nuts 
and apples, directed in small-text, at the wax-work 
door. 

This desirable impression was not lost on Mrs. Jarley, 
who, lest Nell should become too cheap, soon sent the 
Brigand out alone again, and kept her in the exhibi- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


15 


tion room, where she described the figures every half- 
hour to the great satisfaction of admiring audiences. 
And these audiences were of a very superior descrip- 
tion, including a great many young ladies’ boarding- 
schools, whose favor Mrs. Jarley had been at great pains 
to conciliate, by altering the face and costume of Mr 
Grimaldi as clown to represent Mr. Lindley Murray as 
he appeared when engaged in the composition of his 
English Grammar, and turning a murderess of great 
renown into Mrs. Hannah More — both of which like- 
nesses were admitted by Miss Monflathers, who was at 
the head of the head Boarding and Day Establishment 
in the town, and who condescended to take a Private 
View with eight chosen young ladies, to be quite start- 
ling from their extreme correctness. Mr. Pitt in a 
nightcap and bedgown, and without his boots, repre- 
sented the poet Cowper with perfect exactness ; and 
Mary Queen of Scots in a dark wig, white shirt-collar, 
and male attire, was such a complete image of Lord 
Byron that the young ladies quite screamed when they 
saw it. Miss Monflathers, however, rebuked this en- 
thusiasm, and took occasion to reprove Mrs. Jarley for 
not keeping her collection more select : observing that 
His Lordship had held certain opinions quite incom- 
patible with wax-work honors, and adding something 
about a Dean and Chapter, which Mrs. Jarley did not 
understand. 

Although her duties were sufficiently laborious, Nell 
found in the lady of the caravan a very kind and con- 
siderate person, who had not only a peculiar relish for 
being comfortable herself, but for making everybody 
about her comfortable also ; which latter taste, it may 
be remarked, is, even in persons who live in much 


16 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


finer places than caravans, afar more rare and uncom- 
mon one than the first, and is not by any means its 
necessary consequence. As her popularity procured her 
various little fees from the visitors on which her pa- 
troness never demanded any toll, and as her grand- 
father too was well treated and useful, she had no cause 
of anxiety in connection with the wax-work, beyond 
that which sprung from her recollection of Quilp, and 
her fears that he might return and one day suddenly 
encounter them. 

Quilp indeed was a perpetual nightmare to the child, 
who was constantly haunted by a vision of his ugly face 
and stunted figure. She slept, for their better security, 
in the room where the wax-work figures were, and she 
never retired to this place at night but she tortured 
herself — she could not help it — with imagining a 
resemblance, in some one or other of their death-like 
faces, to the dwarf, and this fancy would sometimes so 
gain upon her that she would almost believe he had 
removed the figure and stood within the clothes. Then 
there were so many of them with their great glassy 
eyes — and, as they stood one behind the other all 
about her bed, they looked so like living creatures, and 
yet so unlike in their grim stillness and silence, that 
she had a kind of terror of them for their own sakes, 
and would often lie watching their dusky figures until 
she was obliged to rise and light a candle, or go and 
sit at the open window and feel a companionship in 
the bright stars. At these times, she would recall the 
old house and the window at which she used to sit 
alone ; and then she would think of poor Kit and all 
his kindness, until the tears came into her eyes, and 
3he would weep and smile together. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


1 » 


Often and anxiously at this silent hour, her thoughts 
reverted to her grandfather, and she would wonder how 
much he remembered of their former life, and whether 
he was ever really mindful of the change in their condi- 
tion and of their late helplessness and destitution. When 
they were wandering about, she seldom thought of this, 
but now she could not help considering what would be- 
come of them if he fell sick, or her own strength were 
to fail her. He was very patient and willing, happy to 
execute any little task, and glad to be of use; but he 
was in the same listless state, with no prospect of im- 
provement — a mere child — a poor, thoughtless, vacant 
creature — a harmless fond old man, susceptible of ten- 
der love and regard for her, and of pleasant and pain- 
ful impressions, but alive to nothing more. It made her 
very sad to know that this was so — so sad to see it that 
sometimes when he sat idly by, smiling and nodding to 
her when she iooked round, or when he caressed some 
little child and carried it to and fro, as he was fond of 
doing by the hour together, perplexed by its simple 
questions, yet patient under his own infirmity, and seem- 
ing almost conscious of it too, and humbled even before 
the mind of an infant — so sad it made her to see him 
thus, that she would burst into tears, and withdrawing 
into some secret place, fall down upon her knees and 
pray that he might be restored. 

But, the bitterness of her grief was not in beholding 
him in this condition, when he was at least content and 
tranquil, nor in her solitary meditations on his altered 
state, though these were trials for a young heart. Cause 
for deeper and heavier sorrow was yet to come. 

One evening, a holiday night with them, Nell and her 
grandfather went out to walk. They had been rather 
2 


VOL. II. 


18 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


closely confined for some days, ana the weather being 
warm, they strolled a long distance. Clear of the town, 
they took a footpath which struck through some pleasant 
fields, judging that it would terminate in the road they 
quitted and enable them to return that way. It made, 
however, a much wider circuit than they had supposed, 
and thus they were tempted onward until sunset, when 
they reached the track of which they were in searcli, 
and stopped to rest. 

It had been gradually getting overcast, and now the 
sky was dark and lowering, save where the glory of the 
departing sun piled up masses of gold and burning fire, 
decaying embers of which gleamed here and there 
through the black veil, and shone redly down upon the 
earth. The wind began to moan in hollow murmurs, as 
the sun went down carrying glad day elsewhere ; and a 
train of dull clouds coming up against it, menaced thun- 
der and lightning. Large drops of rain soon began to 
fall, and, as the storm clouds came sailing onward, oth- 
ers supplied the void they left behind and spread over all 
the sky. Then was heard the low rumbling of distant 
thunder, then the lightning quivered, and then the dark- 
ness of an hour seemed to have gathered in an instant. 

Fearful of taking shelter beneath a tree or hedge, the 
old man and the child hurried along the high road, hop- 
ing to find some house in which they could seek a refuge 
from the storm, which had now burst forth in earnest, 
and every moment increased in violence. Drenched 
with the pelting rain, confused by the deafening thunder 
and bewildered by the glare of the forked lightning 
they would have passed a solitary house without being 
aware of its vicinity, had not a man, who was standing 
at the door, called lustily to them to enter. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


19 


“ Your ears ought to be better than other folks’ at any 
rate, if you make so little of the chance of being struck 
blind,” he said, retreating from the door and shading his 
eyes with his hands as the jagged lightning came again. 
“ What were you going past for, eh ? ” he added, as he 
closed the door and led the way along a passage to a 
room behind. 

“We didn’t see the house, sir, till we heard you call- 
ing,” Nell replied. 

“ No wonder,” said the man, “ with this lightning in 
one’s eyes, by-the-by. You had better stand by the fire 
here, and dry yourselves a bit. You can call for what 
you like if you want anything. If you don’t want any- 
thing, you’re not obliged to give an order. Don’t be 
afraid of that. This is a public-house, that’s all. The 
Valiant Soldier is pretty well known hereabouts.” 

“Is this house called the Valiant Soldier, sir?” asked 
Nell. 

“I thought everybody knew that,” replied the land- 
lord. “ Where have you come from, if you don’t know 
the Valiant Soldier as well as the church catechism ? 
This is the Valiant Soldier by James Groves, — Jem 
Groves — honest Jem Groves, as is a man of unblem- 
ished moral character, and has a good dry skittle-ground. 
If any man has got anything to say again Jem Groves, 
let him say it to Jem Groves, and Jem Groves can ac- 
‘ommodate him with a customer on any terms from four 
pound a side to forty.” 

With these words, the speaker tapped himself on the 
waistcoat, to intimate that he was the Jem Groves so 
highly eulogized ; sparred scientifically at a counterfeit 
Jem Groves, who was sparring at society in general 
from a black frame over the chimney-piece ; and, apply- 


20 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


mg a half-emptied glass of spirits and water to his lips, 
drank Jem Groves’s health. 

The night being warm, there was a large screen 
drawn across the room, for a barrier against the heat 
of the fire. It seemed as if somebody on the other 
side of this screen had been insinuating doubts of Mr 
Groves’s prowess, and had thereby given rise to these 
egotistical expressions, for Mr. Groves wound up his 
defiance by giving a loud knock upon it with his 
knuckles, and pausing for a reply from the other side. 

“There a’n’t many men,” said Mr. Groves, no-answer 
being returned, “ who would ventur’ to cross Jem Groves 
under his own roof. There’s only one man I know, that 
has nerve enough for that, and that man’s not a hundred 
mile from here neither. But he’s worth a dozen men, 
and I let him say of me whatever he likes in conse- 
quence, — he knows that.” 

In return for this complimentary address, a very 
gruff hoarse voice bade Mr. Groves “ hold his noise and 
light a candle.” And the same voice remarked that 
the same gentleman “ needn’t waste his breath in brag, 
for most people knew pretty well what sort of stuff he 
was made of.” 

“Nell, they’re — they’re playing cards,” whispered 
the old man, suddenly interested. “ Don’t you hear 
them?” 

“ Look sharp with that candle,” said the voice; “ it’s as 
much as I can do to see the pips on the cards as it is ; 
and get this shutter closed as quick as you can, will you ? 
Your beer will be the worse for to-night’s thunder I ex- 
pect. — Game ! seven-and-sixpence to me, old Isaac, 
Hand over.” 

“ Do you hear, Nell, do you hear them?” whispered 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


21 


the old man again, with increased earnestness, as the 
money chinked upon the table. 

“ I haven’t seen such a storm as this,” said a sharp 
cracked voice of most disagreeable quality, when a tre- 
mendous peal of thunder had died away, “ since the 
night when old Luke Withers won thirteen times run- 
ning on the red. We all said he had the Devil’s luck 
and his own, and as it was the kind of night for the 
Devil to be out and busy, I suppose he was looking over 
his shoulder, if anybody could have seen him.” 

“ Ah ! ” returned the gruff voice ; “ for all old Luke’s 
winning through thick and thin of late years, I remem- 
ber the time when he was the unluckiest and unfortu- 
natest of men. He never took a dice-box in his hand, 
or held a card but he was plucked, pigeoned, and cleaned 
out completely.” 

“ Do you hear what he says,” whispered the old man. 
“ Do you hear that, Nell ? ” 

The child saw with astonishment and alarm that his 
w T hole appearance had undergone a complete change. 
His face was flushed and eager, his eyes were strained, 
his teeth set, his breath came short and thick, and the 
hand he laid upon her arm trembled so violently that 
she shook beneath its grasp. 

“ Bear witness,” he muttered, looking upward, “ that I 
always said it ; that I knew it, dreamed of it, felt it was 
the truth, and that it must be so ! What money have 
we, Nell ? Come ! I saw you with money yesterday 
What money have we ? Give it to me.” 

“ No, no, let me keep it, grandfather,” said the fright- 
ened child. “Let us go away from here. Do not mind 
the rain. Pray let us go.” 

“ Give it to me, I say,” returned the old man fiercely. 


22 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Hush, hush, don't cry, Nell. If I spoke sharply, dear. 
I didn't mean it. It’s for thy good. I have wronged 
thee, Nell, but I will right thee yet, I will indeed. 
Where is the money ? " 

“ Do not take it,” said the child. “ Pray do not take 
it, dear. For both our sakes let me keep it, or let me 
throw it away — better let me throw it away, than you 
take it now. Let us go ; do let us go.” 

“ Give me the money,” returned the old man, “ I must 
have it. There — there — that’s my dear Nell. I'll right 
thee one day, child, I'll right thee, never fear ! ” 

She took from her pocket a little purse. He seized 
it with the same rapid impatience which had character- 
ized his speech, and hastily made his way to the other 
side of the screen. It was impossible to restrain him, 
and the trembling child followed close behind. 

The landlord had placed a light upon the table, and 
was engaged in drawing the curtain of the window. 
The speakers whom they had heard were two men, who 
had a pack of cards and some silver money between 
them, while upon the screen itself the games they had 
played were scored in chalk. The man with the rough 
voice was a burly fellow of middle age, with large black 
whiskers, broad cheeks, a coarse wide mouth, and bull 
neck, which was pretty freely displayed as his shirt col- 
lar was only confined by a loose red neckerchief. He 
wore his hat, which was of a brownish-white, and had 
beside him a thick knotted stick. The other man, whom 
his companion had called Isaac, was of a more slender 
figure — stooping, and high in the shoulders — with a 
very ill-favored face, and a most sinister and villainous 
squint. 

“ Now old gentleman,” said Isaac, looking round, 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 


23 


u do you know either of us ? This side of the screen 
is private, sir.” 

“No offence, I hope,” returned the old man. 

“But by G — , sir, there is offence,” said the other 
interrupting him, “when you intrude yourself upon a 
couple of gentlemen who are particularly engaged.” 

“ I had no intention to offend,” said the old man, look- 
ing anxiously at the cards. “ I thought that — ” 

“ But you had no right to think, sir,” retorted the 
other. “ What the devil has a man at your time of 
life to do with thinking?” 

“Now bully boy,” said the stout man raising his 
eyes from his cards for the first time, “ can’t you let 
him speak?” 

The landlord who had apparently resolved to remain 
neutral until he knew which side of the question the 
stout man would espouse, chimed in at this place with 
“Ah, to be sure, can’t you let him speak, Isaac List?” 

“ Can’t I let him speak,” sneered Isaac in reply, 
mimicking as nearly as he could, in his shrill voice, the 
tones of the landlord. “Yes, I can let him speak, Jem- 
my Groves.” 

“Well then, do it, will you?” said the landlord. 

Mr. List’s squint assumed a portentous character, 
which seemed to threaten a prolongation of this con- 
troversy, when his companion who had been looking 
sharply at the old man, put a timely stop to it. 

“ Who knows,” said he, with a cunning look, “ but 
the gentleman may have civilly meant to ask if he 
might have the honor to take a hand with us ! ” 

“ I did mean it,” cried the old man. “ That is what 
[ mean. That is what I want now ! ” 

“ I thought so,” returned the same man. “ Then who 


24 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


knows but the gentleman, anticipating our objection to 
play for love, civilly desired to play for money ? ” 

The old man replied by shaking the little purse in 
his eager hand, and then throwing it down upon the 
table, and gathering up the cards as a miser would clutch 
at gold. 

“ Oh ! That indeed — ” said Isaac ; “ if that’s wha 
the gentleman meant, I beg the gentleman’s pardon. 
Is this the gentleman’s little purse ? A very pretty 
little purse. Rather a light purse,” added Isaac, throw- 
ing it into the air and catching it dexterously, “ but 
enough to amuse a gentleman for half an hour or so.” 

“ We’ll make a four-handed game of it, and take in 
Groves,” said the stout man. “ Come, Jemmy.” 

The landlord who conducted himself like one who 
was well used to such little parties, approached the table 
and took his seat. The child, in a perfect agony, drew 
her grandfather aside, and implored him, even then, to 
come away. 

“ Come ; and we may be so happy,” said the child. 

“We will be happy,” replied the old man, hastily. 
“ Let me go, Nell. The means of happiness are on 
the cards and in the dice. We must rise from little 
winnings to great. There’s little to be won here ; but 
great will come in time. I shall but win back my own, 
and it’s all for thee, my darling.” 

“ God help us ! ” cried the child. “ Oh ! what hard 
fortune brought us here ! ” 

“ Hush ! ” rejoined the old man laying his hand upon 
her mouth. “ Fortune will not bear chiding. We must 
not reproach her, or she shuns us ; I have found that out.” 

“ Now, mister,” said the stout man. “ If you’re not 
eoming yourself, give us the cards, will you ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


25 


“ I am coming,” cried the old man. “ Sit thee down, 
Nell, sit thee down and look on. Be of good heart, 
it’s all for thee — all — every penny. I don’t tell them, 
no, no, or else they wouldn’t play, dreading the chance 
that such a cause must give me. Look at them. See 
what they are and what thou art. Who doubts that 
we must win ! ” 

“ The gentleman has thought better of it, and isn’t 
coming,” said Isaac, making as though he would rise 
from the table. “ I’m sorry the gentleman ’s daunted 
— nothing venture, nothing have — but the gentleman 
knows best.” 

“ Why, I am ready. You have all been slow but me,” 
said the old man. “ I wonder who’s more anxious to 
begin than I.” 

As he spoke he drew a chair to the table ; and the 
other three closing round it at the same time, the game 
commenced. 

The child sat by, and watched its progress with a 
troubled mind. Regardless of the run of luck, and 
mindful only of the desperate passion 'which had its 
hold upon her grandfather, losses and gains were to her 
alike. Exulting in some brief triumph, or cast down 
by a defeat, there he sat so wild and restless, so fever- 
ishly and intensely anxious, so terribly eager, so rav- 
enous for the paltry stakes, that she could have almost 
better borne to see him dead. And yet she was the 
innocent cause of all this torture, and he, gambling with 
such a savage thirst for gain as the most insatiable 
gambler never felt, had not one selfish thought ! 

On the contrary, the other three — knaves and game- 
sters by their trade — while intent 3pon their game, 
were yet as cool and quiet as if every virtue had been 


26 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


centred in their breasts. Sometimes one would look up 
to smile to another, or to snuff the feeble candle, or to 
glance at the lightning as it shot through the open 
window and fluttering curtain, or to listen to some louder 
peal of thunder than the rest, with a kind of moment- 
ary impatience, as if it put him out; but there they sat, 
with a calm indifference to everything but their cards, 
perfect philosophers in appearance, and with no greater 
show of passion or excitement than if they had been 
made of stone. 

The storm had raged for full three hours ; the light' 
ning had grown fainter and less frequent ; the thunder, 
from seeming to roll and break above their heads, had 
gradually died away into a deep hoarse distance ; and 
still the game went on, and still the anxious child was 
quite forgotten. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


27 


CHAPTER XXX. 

At length the play came to an end, and Mr. Isaac 
List rose the only winner. Mat and the landlord bore 
their losses with professional fortitude. Isaac pocketed 
his gains with the air of a man who had quite made 
up his mind to win, all along, and was neither surprised 
nor pleased. 

Nell’s little purse was exhausted ; but, although it 
lay empty by his side, and the other players had now 
risen from the table, the old man sat poring over the 
cards, dealing them as they had been dealt before, and 
turning up the different hands to see what each man 
would have held if they had still been playing. He 
was quite absorbed in this occupation, when the child 
drew near and laid her hand upon his shoulder, telling 
him it was near midnight. 

“ See the curse of poverty, Nell,” he said, pointing 
to the packs he had spread out upon the table. “ If I 
could have gone on a little longer, only a little longer, 
the luck would have turned on my side. Yes, it’s as 
plain as the marks upon the cards. See here — and 
there — and here again.” 

“ Put them away,” urged the child. “ Try to forget 
them.” 

“ Try to forget them ! ” he rejoined, raising his hag- 
gard face to hers, and regarding her with an incredu- 


28 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


lous stare. “ To forget them ! How are we ever to grow 
rich if I forget them ? ” 

The child could only shake her head. 

“ No, no, Nell,” said the old man, patting her cheek ; 
u they must not be forgotten. We must make amends 
for this as soon as we can. Patience — patience, and 
we’ll right thee yet, I promise thee. Lose to-day, win 
to-morrow. And nothing can be won without anxiety 
and care — nothing. Come, I am ready.” 

a Do you know what the time is ? ” said Mr. Groves, 
who was smoking with his friends. “ Past twelve 
o’clock — ” 

“ — And a rainy night,” added the stout man. 

“The Valiant Soldier, by James Groves. Good beds. 
Cheap entertainment for man and beast,” said Mr. Groves, 
quoting his sign -board. “ Half-past twelve o’clock.” 

“It’s very late,” said the uneasy child. “I wish we 
had gone before. What will they think of us ! It will 
be two o’clock by the time we get back. What would 
it cost, sir, if we stopped here ? ” 

“ Two good beds, one-and-sixpence ; supper and beer 
one shilling; total, two shillings and sixpence,” replied 
the Valiant Soldier. 

Now, Nell had still the piece of gold sewn in her 
dress ; and when she came to consider the lateness of 
the hour, and the somnolent habits of Mrs. Jarley, and 
to imagine the state of consternation in which they would 
certainly throw that good lady by knocking her up in 
the middle of the night — and when she reflected, on 
the other hand, that if they remained where they were, 
and rose early in the morning, they might get back 
before she awoke, and could plead the violence of the 
storm by whieh they had been overtaken, as a good 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


29 


apology for their absence — she decided, after a great 
deal of hesitation, to remain. She therefore took her 
grandfather aside, and telling him that she had still 
enough left to defray the cost of their lodging, proposed 
that they should stay there for the night. 

“ If I had had but that money before — If I had 
only known of it a few minutes ago ! ” muttered the 
old man. 

“ We will decide to stop here if you please,” said 
Nell, turning hastily to the landlord. 

“ 1 think that’s prudent,” returned Mr. Groves. “ You 
shall have your suppers directly.” 

Accordingly, when Mr. Groves had smoked his pipe 
out, knocked out the ashes and placed it carefully in 
a corner of the fire-place, with the bowl downwards, 
he brought in the bread and cheese, and beer, with 
many high encomiums upon their excellence, and bade 
his guests fall to, and make themselves at home. Nell 
and her grandfather ate sparingly, for both were occu- 
pied with their own reflections ; the other gentlemen, 
for whose constitutions beer was too weak and tame a 
liquid, consoled themselves with spirits and tobacco. 

As they would leave the house very early in the 
morning, the child was anxious to pay for their enter- 
tainment before they retired to bed. But as she felt 
the necessity of concealing her little hoard from her 
grandfather, and had to change the piece of gold, she 
took it secretly from its place of concealment, and em- 
braced an opportunity of following the landlord when 
he went out of the room, and tendered it to him in the 
little bar. 

“ Will you give me the change here, if you please ? ** 
said the child. 


30 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Mr. James Groves was evidently surprised, and looked 
at the money, and rung it, and looked at the child, and 
at the money again, as though he had a mind to in- 
quire how she came by it. The coin being genuine, 
however, and changed at his house, he probably felt, 
like a wise landlord, that it was no business of his. At 
any rate, he counted out the change, and gave it her. 
The child was returning to the room where they had 
passed the evening, when she fancied she saw a figure 
just gliding in at the door. There was nothing but a 
long dark passage between this door and the place 
where she had changed the money, and, being very 
certain that no person had passed in or out while she 
stood there, the thought struck her that she had been 
watched. 

But by whom ? When she re-entered the room, she 
found its inmates exactly as she had left them. The 
stout fellow lay upon two chairs, resting his head on 
his hand, and the squinting man reposed in a similar 
attitude on the opposite side of the table. Between them 
sat her grandfather, looking intently at the winner with 
a kind of hungry admiration, and hanging upon his 
words as if he w r ere some superior being. She was 
puzzled for a moment, and looked round to see if any 
else were there. No. Then she asked her grandfather 
in a whisper whether anybody had left the room while 
she was absent. “ No,” he said, “ nobody.” 

It must have been her fancy then ; and yet it was 
6trange, that, without anything in her previous thoughts 
to lead to it, she should have imagined this figure so 
very distinctly. She was still wondering and thinking 
of it, when a girl came to light her to bed. 

The old man took leave of the company at the same 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


31 


time, an«l they went up-stairs together. It was a great 
rambling house, with dull corridors and wide staircases 
which the flaring candles seemed to make more gloomy. 
She left her grandfather in his chamber, and followed 
her guide to another, which was at the end of a pas- 
age, and approached by some half-dozen crazy steps. 
This was prepared for her. The girl lingered a little 
while to talk, and tell her grievances. She had not a 
good place, she said ; the wages were low, and the work 
was hard. She was going to leave it in a fortnight; 
the child couldn’t recommend her to another, she sup- 
posed ? Indeed she was afraid another would be difficult 
to get after living there, for the house had a very in- 
different character; there was far too much card-playing, 
and such like. She was very much mistaken if some 
of the people who came there oftenest were quite as 
honest as they might be, but she wouldn’t have it known 
that she had said so, for the world. Then there were 
some rambling allusions to a rejected sweetheart, who 
had threatened to go a-soldiering — a final promise of 
knocking at the door early in the morning — and “ Good- 
night.” 

The child did not feel comfortable when she was left 
alone. She could not help thinking of the figure steal- 
ing through the passage down-stairs ; and what the 
girl had said did not tend to reassure her. The men 
were very ill-looking. They might get their living by 
lobbing and murdering travellers. Who could tell ? 

Reasoning herself out of these fears, or losing sight 
of them for a little while, there came the anxiety to 
which the adventures of the night gave rise. Here was 
the old passion awakened again in her grandfather’s 
breast, and to what further distraction it might tempt 


32 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


him Heaven only knew. What fears their absence 
might have occasioned already ! Persons might be seek- 
ing for them even then. Would they be forgiven in 
the morning, or turned adrift again ! Oh ! why had they 
stopped in that strange place ? It would have been 
better, under any circumstances, to have gone on ! 

At last, sleep gradually stole upon her — a broken, 
fitful sleep, troubled by dreams of falling from high 
towers, and waking with a start and in great terror. 

A deeper slumber followed this — and then What ! 

That figure in the room ! 

A figure was there. Yes, she had drawn up the blind 
to admit the light when it should dawn, and there, be- 
tween the foot of the bed and the dark casement, it 
crouched and slunk along, groping its way with noise- 
less hands, and stealing round the bed. She had no 
voice to cry for help, no power to move, but lay still, 
watching it. 

On it came — on, silently and stealthily, to the bed’s 
head. The breath so near her pillow, that she shrunk 
back into it, lest those wandering hands should light 
upon her face. Back again it stole to the window — 
then turned its head towards her. 

The dark form was a mere blot upon the lighter dark- 
ness of the room, but she saw the turning of the head, 
and felt and knew how the eyes looked and the ears 
listened. There it remained, motionless .as she. At 
length, still keeping the face towards her, it busied its 
hands in something, and she heard the chink of money. 

Then, on it came again, silent and stealthy as before, 
and replacing the garments it had taken from the bed- 
side, dropped upon its hands and knees, and crawled 
away. How slowly it seemed to move, now that she 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


33 


could hear but not see it, creeping along the floor ! It 
reached the door at last, and stood upon its feet. The 
steps creaked beneath its noiseless tread, and it was gone. 

The first impulse of the child was to fly from the 
terror of being by herself in that room — to have some- 
body by — not to be alone — and then her power of 
speech would be restored. With no consciousness of 
having moved, she gained the door. 

There was the dreadful shadow, pausing at the bot- 
tom of the steps. 

She could not pass it ; she might have done so, per- 
haps, in the darkness, without being seized, but her 
blood curdled at the thought. The figure stood quite 
still, and so did she ; not boldly, but of necessity ; for 
going back into the room was hardly less terrible than 
going on. 

The rain beat fast and furiously without, and ran 
down in plashing streams from the thatched roof. Some 
summer insect, with no escape into the air, flew blindly 
to and fro, beating its body against the walls and ceil- 
ing, and filling the silent place with murmurs. The 
figure moved again. The child involuntarily did the 
same. Once in her grandfather’s room, she would be 
safe. 

It crept along the passage until it came to the very 
ioor she longed so ardently to reach. The child, in the 
agony of being so near, had almost darted forward with 
the design of bursting into the room and closing it be- 
hind her, when the figure stopped again. 

The idea flashed suddenly upon her — what if it 
entered there, and had a design upon the old man’s life ! 
She turned faint and sick. It did. It went in. There 
was a light inside. The figure was now within the 

VOL. II. 3 


34 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


chamber, and she, still dumb — quite dumb, and almost 
senseless — stood looking on. 

The door was partly open. Not knowing what she 
meant to do, but meaning to preserve him or be killed 
herself, she staggered forward and looked in. 

What sight was that which met her view ! 

The bed had not been lain on, but was smooth and 
empty. And at a table sat the old man himself ; the 
only living creature there ; his white face pinched and 
sharpened by the greediness which made his eyes unnat- 
urally bright — counting the money of which his hands 
had robbed her. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


35 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

With steps more faltering and unsteady than those 
with which she had approached the room, the child 
withdrew from the door, and groped her way back to her 
own chamber. The terror she had lately felt was noth- 
ing compared with that which now oppressed her. No 
strange robber, no treacherous host conniving at the 
plunder of his guests, or stealing to their beds to kill 
them in their sleep, no nightly prowler, however terrible 
and cruel, could have awakened in her bosom half the 
dread which the recognition of her silent visitor inspired. 
The gray-headed old man gliding like a ghost into her 
room and acting the thief while he supposed her fast 
asleep, then bearing off his prize and hanging over it 
with the ghastly exultation she had witnessed, was 
worse — immeasurably worse, and far more dreadful, 
for the moment, to reflect upon — than anything her 
wildest fancy could have suggested. If he should return 
— there was no lock or bolt upon the door, and if, 
distrustful of having left some money yet behind, he 
should come back to seek for more — a vague awe and 
hoiTor surrounded the idea of his slinking in again with 
stealthy tread, and turning his face toward the empty 
bed, while she shrank down close at h<s feet to avoid his 
touch, which was almost insupportable. She sat and 
listened. Hark ! A footstep on the stairs, and now the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


36 

door was slowly opening. It was but imagination, yet 
imagination had all the terrors of reality ; nay, it was 
worse, for the Reality would have come and gone, and 
there an end, but in imagination it was always coming, 
and never went away. 

The feeling which beset the child was one of dim 
uncertain horror. She had no fear of the dear old 
grandfather, in whose love for her this disease of the 
brain had been engendered ; but the man she had seen 
that night, wrapt in the game of chance, lurking in her 
room, and counting the money by the glimmering light, 
seemed like another creature in his shape, a monstrous 
distortion of his image, a something to recoil from, and be 
the more afraid of, because it bore a likeness to him, and 
kept close about her, as he did. She could scarcely 
connect her own affectionate companion, save by his 
loss, with this old man, so like yet so unlike him. She 
had wept to see him dull and quiet. How much greater 
cause she had for weeping now ! 

The child sat watching and thinking of these things, 
until the phantom in her mind so increased in gloom and 
terror, that she felt it would be a relief to hear the old 
man’s voice, or, if he were asleep, even to see him, and 
banish some of the fears that clustered round his image. 
She stole down the stairs and passage again. The door 
was still ajar as she had left it, and the candle burning 
as before. 

She had her own candle in her hand, prepared to say, 
if he were waking, that she was uneasy and could not 
rest, and had come to see if his were still alight. Look- 
ing into the room, she saw him lying calmly on his bed, 
and so took courage to enter. 

Fast asleep — no passion in the face, no avarice, no 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


37 


anxiety, no wild desire ; all gentle, tranquil, and a! 
peace. This was not the gambler, or the shadow in her 
room ; this was not even the worn and jaded man whose 
face had so often met her own in the gray morning 
light ; this was her dear old friend, her harmless fellow- 
traveller, her good, kind grandfather. 

She had no fear as she looked upon his slumbering 
features, but she had a deep and weighty sorrow, and it 
found its relief in tears. 

u God bless him ! ” said the child, stooping softly to 
kiss his placid cheek. “ I see too well now, that they 
would indeed part us if they found us out, and shut him 
up from the light of the sun and sky. He has only me 
to help him. God bless us both ! ” 

Lighting her candle, she retreated as silently as she 
had come, and gaining her own room once more, sat up 
during the remainder of that long, long, miserable night. 

At last the day turned her waning candle pale, and 
she fell asleep. She was quickly roused by the girl 
who had shown her up to bed ; and, as soon as she was 
dressed, prepared to go down to her grandfather. But 
first she searched her pocket and found that her money 
was all gone — not a sixpence remained. 

The old man was ready, and in a few seconds they 
were on their road. The child thought he rather avoided 
her eye, and appeared to expect that she would tell him 
of her loss. She felt she must do that, or he might 
suspect the truth. 

“ Grandfather,” she said in a tremulous voice, after 
they had walked about a mile in silence, “ do you think 
they are honest people at the house yonder ? ” 

u Why ? ” returned the old man trembling. “ Do I 
think them honest — yes, they played honestly.” 


38 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ I’ll tell you why I ask,” rejoined Nell. “ I lost 
some money last night — out of my bedroom I am sure. 
Unless it was taken by somebody in jest — only in jest, 
dear grandfather, which would make me laugh heartily 
if I could but know it” — 

“ Who would take money in jest ? ” returned the old 
man, in a hurried manner. “ Those who take money, 
take it to keep. Don’t talk of jest.” 

“ Then it was stolen out of my room, dear,” said the 
child, whose last hope was destroyed by the manner of 
this reply. 

“ But is there no more, Nell ? ” said the old man ; “ no 
more anywhere ? Was it all taken — every farthing of 
it — was there nothing left ? ” 

“ Nothing,” replied the child. 

“We must get more,” said the old man. “ we must 
earn it, Nell, hoard it up, scrape it together, come by it 
somehow. Never mind this loss. Tell nobody of it, and 
perhaps we may regain it. Don’t ask how ; — we may 
regain it, and a great deal more ; — but tell nobody, or 
trouble may come of it. And so they took it out of thy 
room, when thou wert asleep ! ” he added in a compas- 
sionate tone, very different from the secret, cunning way 
in which he had spoken until now. “ Poor Nell, poor 
little Nell ! ” 

The child hung down her head and wept. The 
sympathizing tone in which he spoke, was quite sin- 
cere; she was sure of that. It was not the lightes 
part of her sorrow to know that this was done for 

her. 

“Not a word about it to any one but me,” said the old 
man, “ no, not even to me,” he added hastily, “ for it can 
do no good. All the losses that ever were, are no* 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


39 


worth tears from thy eyes, darling. Why should they 
be, when we will win them back ? ” 

" Let them go,” said the child looking up. " Let 
them go, once and forever, and I would never shed 
another tear if every penny had been a thousand pounds.” 

"Well, well,” returned the old man, checking himself 
as some impetuous answer rose to his lips, “ she knowa 
no better. I should be thankful for it.” 

" But listen to me,” said the child earnestly, " will you 
listen to me?” 

"Aye, aye, I’ll listen,” returned the old man, still 
without looking at her ; " a pretty voice. It has always 
a sweet sound to me. It always had when it was her 
mother’s, poor child.” 

" Let me persuade you, then — oh, do let me persuade 
you,” said the child, " to think no more of gains or 
losses, and to try no fortune but the fortune we pursue 
together.” 

"We pursue this aim together,” retorted her grand- 
father, still looking away and seeming to confer with 
himself. " Whose image sanctifies the game ? ” 

"Have we been worse off,” resumed the child, "since 
you forgot these cares, and we have been travelling on 
together? Have we not been much better and happier 
without a home to shelter us, than ever we were in that 
unhappy house, when they were on your mind ? ” 

" She speaks the truth,” murmured the old man in 
the same tone as before. " It must not turn me, but it 
is the truth — no doubt it is.” 

" Only remember what we have been since that bright 
morning when we turned our backs upon it for the last 
time,” said Nell, "only remember what we have been 
since we have been free of all those miseries — what 


40 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


peaceful days and quiet nights we have had — what pleas- 
ant times we have known — what happiness we have en- 
joyed. If we have been tired or hungry, we have been 
Boon refreshed, and slept the sounder for it. Think what 
beautiful things we have seen, and how contented we 
have felt. And why was this blessed change ? ” 

He stopped her with a motion of his hand, and bade 
her talk to him no more just then, for he was busy. 
After a time he kissed her cheek, still motioning her to 
silence, and walked on, looking far before him, and some- 
times stopping and gazing with a puckered brow upon 
the ground, as if he were painfully trying to collect his 
disordered thoughts. Once she saw tears in his eyes. 
When he had gone on thus for some time, he took her 
hand in his as he was accustomed to do, with nothing of 
the violence or animation of his late manner ; and so* 
by degrees so fine that the child could not trace them, 
settled down into his usual quiet way, and suffered her to 
lead him where she would. 

When they presented themselves in the midst of the 
stupendous collection, they found, as Nell had antici- 
pated, that Mrs. Jarley was not yet out of bed, and that, 
although she had suffered some uneasiness on their ac- 
count overnight, and had indeed sat up for them until 
past eleven o’clock, she had retired in the persuasion, 
that, being overtaken by storm at some distance from 
home, they had sought the nearest shelter, and would 
not return before morning. Nell immediately applied 
herself with great assiduity to the decoration and prep- 
aration of the room, and had the satisfaction of com- 
pleting her task, and dressing herself neatly, before the 
beloved of the Royal Family came down to breakfast. 

“ We haven’t had,” said Mrs. Jarley when the meal 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


41 


was over, “more than eight of Miss Monfla thers’s young 
ladies all the time we’ve been here, and there’s twenty- 
six of ’em, as I was told by the cook when I asked her a 
question or two and put her on the free-list. We must 
try ’em with a parcel of new bills, and you shall take it, 
my dear, and see what effect that has upon ’em.” 

The proposed expedition being one of paramount im- 
portance, Mrs. Jarley adjusted Nell’s bonnet with her 
own hands, and declaring that she certainly did look 
very pretty, and reflected credit on the establishment, 
dismissed her with many commendations, and certain 
needful directions as to the turnings on the right which 
she was to take, and the turnings on the left which 
she was to avoid. Thus instructed, Nell had no diffi- 
culty in finding out Miss Monflathers’s Boarding and 
Day Establishment, which was a large house, with a 
high wall, and a large garden-gate with a large brass 
plate, and a small grating through which Miss Monflath- 
ers’s parlor-maid inspected all visitors before admitting 
them ; for nothing in the shape of a man — no, not even 
a milkman — was suffered, without special license, to 
pass that gate. Even the tax-gatherer, who was stout, 
and wore spectacles and a broad-brimmed hat, had the 
taxes handed through the grating. More obdurate than 
gate of adamant or brass, this gate of Miss Monflath- 
ers’s frowned on all mankind. The very butcher re- 
spected it as a gate of mystery, and left off whistling 
when he rang the bell. 

As Nell approached the awful door, it turned slowly 
upon its hinges with a creaking noise, and forth from the 
silent grove beyond, came a long file of young ladies, 
two and two, all with open books in their hands, and 
some with parasols likewise. And last of the goodly 


42 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


procession came Miss Monflathers, bearing herself a 
parasol of lilac silk, and supported by two smiling 
teachers, each mortally envious of the other, and de- 
voted unto Miss Monflathers. 

Confused by the looks and whispers of the girls, Nell 
stood with downcast eyes and suffered the procession to 
pass on, until Miss Monflathers, bringing up the rear, 
approached her, when she courtesied and presented her 
little packet ; on receipt whereof Miss Monflathers com- 
manded that the line should halt. 

“ You’re the wax-work child, are you not ? ” said Miss 
Monflathers. 

“ Yes, ma’am,” replied Nell, coloring deeply, for the 
young ladies had collected about her, and she was the 
centre on which all eyes were fixed. 

u And don’t you think you must be a very wicked 
little child,” said Miss Monflathers, who was of rather 
uncertain temper, and lost no opportunity of impressing 
moral truths upon the tender minds of the young ladies, 
“ to be a wax-work child at all ? ” 

Poor Nell had never viewed her position in this light, 
and not knowing what to say, remained silent, blushing 
more deeply than before. 

“ Don’t you know,” said Miss Monflathers, a that it’s 
very naughty and unfeminine, and a perversion of the 
properties wisely and benignantly transmitted to us, with 
expansive powers to be roused from their dormant state 
through the medium of cultivation ? ” 

The two teachers murmured their respectful approval 
of this home-thrust, and looked at Nell as though they 
would have said that there indeed Miss Monflathers had 
hit her very hard. Then they smiled and glanced at 
Miss Monflathers, and then, their eyes meeting, they ex- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


43 


changed looks which plainly said that each considered 
herself smiler in ordinary to Miss Monflathers, and re- 
garded the other as having no right to smile, and that her 
so doing was an act of presumption and impertinence. 

“ Don’t you feel how naughty it is of you,” resumed 
Miss Monflathers, “ to be a wax-work child, when you 
might have the proud consciousness of assisting, to the 
extent of your infant powers, the manufactures of your 
country ; of improving your mind by the constant contem- 
plation of the steam-engine ; and of earning a comfortable 
and independent subsistence of from two-and-ninepence 
to three shillings per week? Don’t you know that the 
harder you are at work, the happier you are ? ” 

“ 4 How doth the little — ’ ” murmured one of the 
teachers, in quotation from Doctor Watts. 

44 Eh ? ” said Miss Monflathers, turning smartly round. 
44 Who said that ? ” 

Of course the teacher who had not said it, indicated 
the rival who had, whom Miss Monflathers frowningly 
requested to hold her peace ; by that means throwing 
the informing teacher into raptures of joy. 

“The little busy bee,” said Miss Monflathers, draw- 
ing herself up, 44 is applicable only to genteel children. 

‘ In books, or work, or healthful play ’ 

is quite right as far as they are concerned ; and the 
work means painting on velvet, fancy needle-work, or 
embroidery. In such cases as these,” pointing to Nell, 
with her parasol, 44 and in the case of all poor people’s 
children, we should read it thus : 

‘ In work, work, work. In work alwav 
Let my first years be past, 

That I may give for ev’ry day 
Some good account at last.’ ” 


44 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


A deep hum of applause rose not only from the two 
teachers, but from all the pupils, who 'were equally 
astonished to hear Miss Monflathers improvising after 
this brilliant style ; for although she had been long 
known as a politician, she had never appeared before 
as an original poet. Just then somebody happened to 
discover that Nell was crying, and all eyes were again 
turned towards her. 

There were indeed tears in her eyes, and drawing out 
her handkerchief to brush them away, she happened to 
let it fall. Before she could stoop to pick it up, one 
young lady of about fifteen or sixteen, who had been 
standing a little apart from the others, as though she 
had no recognized place among them, sprang forward 
and put it in her hand. She was gliding timidly away 
again, when she was arrested by the governess. 

“ It was Miss Edwards who did that, I know,” said 
Miss Monflathers predictively. “Now I am sure that 
was Miss Edwards.” 

It was Miss Edwards, and everybody said it was 
Miss Edwards, and Miss Edwards herself admitted that 
it was. 

“ Is it not,” said Miss Monflathers, putting down her 
parasol to take a severer view of the offender, “ a most 
remarkable thing, Miss Edwards, that you have an at- 
achment to the lower classes which always draws you 
fo their sides ; or, rather, is it not a most extraordi 
oary thing that all I say and do will not wean you 
from propensities which your original station in life 
have unhappily rendered habitual to you, you extremely 
vulgar-minded girl ? ” 

“I really intended no harm, ma’am,” said a sweet 
voice. “It was a momentary impulse, indeed.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


45 


“ An impulse ! ” repeated Miss Mcnflathers scornfully. 
u I wonder that you presume to speak of impulses to 
me ” — both the teachers assented — “I am astonished ” 
— both the teachers were astonished — “I suppose it 
is an impulse which induces you to take the part of 
every grovelling and debased person that comes in your 
way ” — both the teachers supposed so too. 

“ But I would have you know, Miss Edwards,” re- 
sumed the governess in a tone of increased severity, 
“that you cannot be permitted — if it be only for the 
sake of preserving a proper example and decorum in 
this establishment — that you cannot be permitted, and 
that you shall not be permitted, to fly in the face of 
your superiors in this exceedingly gross manner. If 
you have no reason to feel a becoming pride before wax- 
work children, there are young ladies here who have, 
and you must either defer to those young ladies or leave 
the establishment, Miss Edwards.” 

This young lady, being motherless and poor, was ap- 
prenticed at the school — taught for nothing — teaching 
others what she learnt, for nothing — boarded for noth- 
ing — lodged for nothing — and set down and rated as 
something immeasurably less than nothing, by all the 
dwellers in the house. The servant-maids felt her in- 
feriority, for they were better treated ; free to come and 
go, and regarded in their stations with much more re- 
spect. The teachers were infinitely superior, for they 
had paid to go to school in their time, and were paid 
now. The pupils cared little for a companion who had 
no grand stories to tell about home ; no friends to come 
with post-horses, and be received in all humility, with 
cake and wine, by the governess ; no deferential servant 
to attend and bear her home for the holidays ; nothing 


46 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


genteel to talk about, and nothing to display. But why 
was Miss Monflathers always vexed and irritated with 
the poor apprentice — how did that come to pass ? 

Why, the gayest feather in Miss Monflathers’s cap, and 
the brightest glory of Miss Monflathers’s school, was a 
baronet’s daughter — the real live daughter of a real live 
baronet — who, by some extraordinary reversal of the 
laws of Nature, was not only plain in features but dull 
in intellect, while the poor apprentice had both a ready 
wit, and a handsome face and figure. It seems incred- 
ible. Here was Miss Edwards, who only paid a small 
premium which had been spent long ago, every day 
outshining and excelling the baronet’s daughter, whc 
learned all the extras (or was taught them all) and 
whose half-yearly bill came to double that of any other 
young lady’s in the school, making no account of the 
honor and reputation of her pupilage. Therefore, and 
because she was a dependant, Miss Monflathers had a 
great dislike to Miss Edwards, and was spiteful to her, 
and aggravated by her, and, when she had compassion 
on little Nell, verbally fell upon and maltreated her as 
we have already seen. 

“You will not take the air to-day, Miss Edwards,” 
said Miss Monflathers. “ Have the goodness to retire 
to your own room, and not to leave it without permis- 
ion.” 

The poor girl was moving hastily away, when she 
mis suddenly, in nautical phrase, “brought to” by a 
tJL\idued shriek from Miss Monflathers. 

*• She has passed me without any salute ! ” cried the 
gcv^Miess, raising her eyes to the sky. “ She has actu- 
ally passed me without the slightest acknowledgment of 
my presence ! ” 


TIIE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


47 


The young lady turned and courtesied. Nell could see 
that she raised her dark eyes to the face of her supe- 
rior, and that their expression, and that of her whole 
attitude for the instant, was one of mute but most touch- 
ing appeal against this ungenerous usage. Miss Mon* 
(lathers only tossed her head in reply, and the great gate 
closed upon a bursting heart. 

“As for you, you wicked child,” said Miss Mon- 
flathers, turning to Nell, “ tell your mistress that if she 
presumes to take the liberty of sending to me any more, 
I will write to the legislative authorities and have her 
put in the stocks, or compelled to do penance in a white 
sheet ; and you may depend upon it that you shall cer- 
tainly experience the tread-mill if you dare to come 
here again. Now ladies, on.” 

The procession filed off, two and two, with the books 
and parasols, and Miss Monflathers, calling the baronet's 
daughter to walk with her and smooth her ruffled feel- 
ings, discarded the two teachers — who by this time 
had exchanged their smiles for looks of sympathy — 
and left them to bring up the rear, and hate each other 
a little more for being obliged to walk together. 


48 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

Mrs. Jarley’s wrath on first learning that she had 
been threatened with the indignity of Stocks and Pen- 
ance, passed all description. The genuine and only 
Jarley exposed to public scorn, jeered by children, and 
flouted by beadles ! The delight of the Nobility and 
Gentry shorn of a bonnet which a Lady Mayoress might 
have sighed to wear, and arrayed in a white sheet as 
a spectacle of mortification and humility ! And Miss 
Monflathers, the audacious creature who presumed, even 
in the dimmest and remotest distance of her imagina- 
tion, to conjure up the degrading picture, “ I am a’most 
inclined,” said Mrs. Jarley, bursting with the fulness 
of her anger and the weakness of her means of revenge, 
“ to turn atheist when I think of it ! ” 

But instead of adopting this course of retaliation, 
Mrs. Jarley, on second thoughts, brought out the sus- 
picious bottle, and ordering glasses to be set forth upon 
her favorite drum, and sinking into a chair behind it, 
called her satellites about her, and to them several 
times recounted, word for word, the affronts she had 
received. This done, she begged them in a kind of deep 
despair to drink ; then laughed, then cried, then took 
a little sip herself, then laughed and cried again, and 
took a little more ; and so, by degrees, the worthy lady 
went on, increasing in smiles and decreasing in tears, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


49 


until at last she could not laugh enough at Miss Mon- 
flathers, who, from being an object of dire vexation, 
became one of sheer ridicule and absurdity. 

“ For which of us is best off, I wonder,” quoth Mrs. 
Jarley, a she or me ! It’s only talking, when all is said 
and done, and if she talks of me in the stocks, why 
I can talk of her in the stocks, which is a good deal 
funnier if we come to that. Lord, what does it matter, 
after all ! ” 

Having arrived at this comfortable frame of mind (to 
which she had been greatly assisted by certain short 
interjectional remarks of the philosophic George), Mrs 
Jarley consoled Nell with many kind words, and re- 
quested as a personal favoj that whenever she thought 
of Miss Monflathers, she would do nothing else but 
laugh at her, all the days of her life. 

So ended Mrs. Jarley’s wrath, which subsided long 
before the going down of the sun. Nell’s anxieties, 
however, were of a deeper kind, and the checks they 
imposed upon her cheerfulness were not so easily re- 
moved. 

That evening, as she had dreaded, her grandfather 
stole away, and did not come back until the night was 
far spent. Worn out as she was, and fatigued in mind 
and body, she sat up alone, counting the minutes, until 
he returned — penniless, broken-spirited, and wretched, 
but still hotly bent upon his infatuation. 

“ Get me money,” he said wildly, as they parted for 
the night. “ I must have money, Nell. It shall be 
paid thee back with gallant interest one day, but all 
the money that comes into thy hands, must be mine — 
not for myself, but to use for thee. Remember, Nell, 
to use for thee ! ” 


VOL. II 


4 


50 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


What could the child do, with the knowledge she had, 
but give him every penny that came into her hands, 
lest he should be tempted on to rob their benefactress ? 
If she told the truth (so thought the child) he would 
be treated as a madman ; if she did not supply him 
with money, he would supply himself ; supplying him, 
she fed the fire that burnt him up, and put him perhaps 
beyond recovery. Distracted by these thoughts, borne 
down by the weight of the sorrow which she dared not 
tell, tortured by a crowd of apprehensions whenever 
the old man was absent, and dreading alike his stay 
and his return, the color forsook her cheek, her eye grew 
dim, and her heart was oppressed and heavy. All her 
old sorrows had come back upon her, augmented by 
new fears and doubts ; by day they were ever present 
to her mind ; by night they hovered round her pillow, 
and haunted her in dreams. 

It was natural that, in the midst of her affliction, she 
should often revert to that sweet young lady of whom 
she had only caught a hasty glance, but whose sym- 
pathy, expressed in one slight brief action, dwelt in her 
memory like the kindnesses of years. She would often 
think, if she had such a friend as that to whom to tell 
her griefs, how much lighter her heart would be — 
that if she were but free to hear that voice, she would 
be happier. Then she would wish that she were some- 
thing better, that she were not quite so poor and humble, 
that she dared address her without fearing a repulse ; 
and then feel that there was an immeasurable distance 
between them, and have no hope that the young lady 
thought of her any more. 

It was now holiday-time at the schools and the young 
ladies had gone home, and Miss Monflathers was re- 


'I HE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


51 


ported to be flourishing in London, and damaging the 
hearts of middle-aged gentlemen, but nobody said any- 
thing about Miss Edwards, whether she had gone home, 
or whether she had any home to go to, whether she 
was still at the school, or anything about her. But one 
evening, as Nell was returning from a lonely walk, she 
happened to pass the inn where the stage-coaches stop- 
ped, just as one drove up, and there was the beautiful 
girl she so well remembered, pressing forward to em- 
brace a young child whom they were helping down from 
the roof. 

Well, this was her sister, her little sister, much younger 
than Nell, whom she had not seen (so the story went 
afterwards) for five years, and to bring whom to that 
place on a short visit, she had been saving her poor 
means all that time. Nell felt as if her heart would 
break when she saw them meet. They went a little 
apart from the knot of people who had congregated 
about the coach, and fell upon each other’s neck, and 
sobbed, and wept with joy. Their plain and simple 
dress, the distance which the child had come alone, their 
agitation and delight, and the tears they shed, would 
have told their history by themselves. 

They became a little more composed in a short time, 
and went away, not so much hand in hand as cling- 
ing to each other. “ Are you sure you’re happy, sis- 
ter?” said the child as they passed where Nell was 
standing. “ Quite happy now,” she answered. “ But 
always?” said the child. “ Ah, sister, why do you turn 
away your face ? ” 

Nell could not help following at a little distance. 
They went to the house of an old nurse, where the 
eider sister had engaged a bed-room for the child. ‘‘ I 


$2 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


shall come to you early every morning, 1 ” she said, “ and 
we can be together all the day.” — “ Why not at night- 
time too? Dear sister, would they be angry with you 
for that f ” 

Why were the eyes of little Nell wet, that night, 
with tears like those of the two sisters? Why did she 
bear a grateful heart because they had met, and feel it 
pain to think that they would shortly part ? Let us not 
believe that any selfish reference — unconscious though 
it might have been — to her own trials awoke this 
sympathy, but thank God that the innocent joys of 
others can strongly move us, and that we, even in our 
fallen nature, have one source of pure emotion which 
must be prized in Heaven ! 

By morning’s cheerful glow, but oftener still by even- 
ing’s gentle light, the child, with a respect for the short 
and happy intercourse of these two sisters which for- 
bade her to approach and say a thankful word, although 
she yearned to do so, followed them at a distance in 
their walks and rambles, stopping when they stopped, 
sitting on the grass when they sat down, rising when 
they went on, and feeling it a companionship and de- 
light to be so near them. Their evening walk was by 
a river’s side. Here, every night, the child was too, 
unseen by them, unthought of, unregarded ; but feeling 
as if they were her friends, as if they had confidences 
and trusts together, as if her load were lightened and 
less hard to bear ; as if they mingled their sorrows, 
and found mutual consolation. It was a weak fancy 
perhaps, the childish fancy of a young and lonely crea- 
ture ; but, night after night, and still the sisters loitered 
in the same place, and still the child followed with a 
mild and softened heart. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


53 


She was much startled, on returning home one night, 
to find that Mrs. Jarley had commanded an announce- 
ment to be prepared, to the effect that the stupendous 
collection would only remain in its present quarters one 
day longer; in fulfilment of which threat (for all an- 
nouncements connected with public amusements are well 
known to be irrevocable and most exact), the stupen- 
dous collection shut up next day. 

“ Are we going from this place directly, ma’am ? ” 
said Nell. 

“ Look here, child,” returned Mrs. Jarley. “ That ’ll 
inform you.” And so saying, Mrs. Jarley produced an- 
other announcement, wherein it was stated, that, in con- 
sequence of numerous inquiries at the wax-work door, 
and in consequence of crowds having been disappointed 
in obtaining admission, the Exhibition would be con- 
tinued for one week longer, and would re-open next day. 

“ For now that the schools are gone, and the regular 
sightseers exhausted,” said Mrs. Jarley, “ we come to the 
General Public, and they want stimulating.” 

Upon the following day at noon, Mrs. Jarley es- 
tablished herself behind the highly-ornamented table, 
attended by the distinguished effigies before mentioned, 
and ordered the doors to be thrown open for the read- 
mission of a discerning and enlightened public. But the 
first day’s operations were by no means of a success- 
ful character, inasmuch as the general public, though 
they manifested a lively interest in Mrs. Jarley per- 
sonally, and such of her waxen satellites as were to be 
seen for nothing, were not affected by any impulses 
moving them to the payment of sixpence a-head. Thus, 
notwithstanding that a great many people continued to 
stare at the entry and the figures therein displayed : and 


54 


THE OLD CUKIOSIT1 SHOP. 


remained there with great perseverance, by the hour at 
a time, to hear the barrel-organ played and to read the 
bills ; and notwithstanding that they were kind enough 
to recommend their friends to patronize the exhibition 
in the like manner, until the door- way was regularly 
blockaded by half the population of the town, who* 
when they went off duty, were relieved by the other 
half, it was not found that the treasury was any the 
richer, or that the prospects of the establishment were 
at all encouraging. 

In this depressed state of the classical market, Mrs. 
Jarley made extraordinary efforts to stimulate the pop- 
ular taste, and whet the popular curiosity. Certain 
machinery in the body of the nun on the leads over 
the door was cleaned up and put in motion, so that the 
figure shook its head paralytically all day long, to the 
great admiration of a drunken, but very .Protestant, 
barber over the way, who looked upon the said para- 
lytic motion as typical of the degrading effect wrought 
upon the human mind by the ceremonies of the Romish 
Church, and discoursed upon that theme with great 
eloquence and morality. The two carters constantly 
passed in and out of the exhibition-room, under various 
disguises, protesting aloud that the sight was better 
worth the money than anything they had beheld in all 
iheir lives, and urging the bystanders, with tears in their 
eyes, not to neglect such a brilliant gratification. Mrs. 
Jarley sat in the pay-place, chinking silver moneys from 
noon till night, and solemnly calling upon the crowd 
to take notice that the price of admission was only six- 
pence, and that the departure of the whole collection, 
on a short tour among the Crowned Heads of Europe, 
was positively fixed for that day week. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 5 $ 

“ So be in time, be in time, be in time,” said Mrs. Jar- 
ley, at the close of every such address. “ Remember 
that this is Jarley’s stupendous collection of upwards of 
one Hundred Figures, and that it is the only collection 
in the world ; all others being impostors and deceptions. 
Be in time, be in time, be in time ! ” 


56 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

As the course of this tale requires that we should be- 
come acquainted, somewhere hereabouts, with a few par- 
ticulars connected with the domestic economy of Mr. 
Sampson Brass, and as a more convenient place than the 
present is not likely to occur for that purpose, the his- 
torian takes the friendly reader by the hand, and spring- 
ing with him into the air, and cleaving the same at a 
greater rate than ever Don Cleophas Leandro Perez 
Zambullo and his familiar travelled through that pleas- 
ant region in company, alights with him upon the pave- 
ment of Bevis Marks. 

The intrepid aeronauts alight before a small dark 
house, once the residence of Mr. Sampson Brass. 

In the parlor window of this little habitation, which 
is so close upon the footway that the passenger who 
takes the wall brushes the dim glass with his coat-sleeve 
— much to its improvement, for it is very dirty — in 
this parlor window in the days of its occupation by 
Sampson Brass, there hung, all awry and slack, and dis- 
colored by the sun, a curtain of faded green, so thread- 
bare from long service as by no means to intercept the 
view of the little dark room, but rather to afford a favor- 
able medium through which to observe it accurately. 
There was not much to look at. A rickety table, with 
spare bundles of papers, yellow and ragged from long 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


57 


carriage in the pocket, ostentatiously displayed upon its 
top ; a couple of stools set face to face on opposite sides 
of this crazy piece of furniture ; a treacherous old chair 
by the fire-place, whose withered arms had hugged full 
many a client and helped to squeeze him dry ; a second- 
hand wig-box, used as a depository for blank writs and 
declarations and other small forms of law, once the sole 
contents of the head which belonged to the wig which 
belonged to the box, as they were now of the box itself; 
two or three common books of practice ; a jar of ink, a 
pounce-box, a stunted hearth-broom, a carpet trodden to 
6hreds but still clinging with the tightness of desperation 
to its tacks — these, with the yellow wainscot of the 
walls, the smoke-discolored ceiling, the dust and cobwebs, 
were among the most prominent decorations of the office 
of Mr. Sampson Brass. 

But this was mere still-life, of no greater importance 
than the plate, “ Brass, Solicitor/’ upon the door, and 
the bill, “ First floor to let to a single gentleman,” which 
was tied to the knocker. The office commonly held two 
examples of animated nature, more to the purpose of 
this history, and in whom it has a stronger interest and 
more particular concern. 

Of these, one was Mr. Brass himself, who has already 
appeared in these pages. The other was his clerk, as- 
sistant, house-keeper, secretary, confidential plotter, ad- 
viser, intriguer, and bill of cost increaser, Miss Brass — 
a kind of amazon at common law, of whom it may be 
desirable to offer a brief description. 

Miss Sally Brass, then, was a lady of thirty-five or 
thereabouts, of a gaunt and bony figure, and a resolute 
bearing, which if it repressed the softer emotions of love, 
and kept admirers at a distance, certainly inspired a 


58 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


feeling akin to awe in the breasts of those male stran 
gers who had the happiness to approach her. In face 
she bore a striking resemblance to her brother Sampson 
— so exact, indeed, was the likeness between them, that 
had it consorted with Miss Brass’s maiden modesty and 
gentle womanhood to have assumed her brother’s clothes 
in a frolic and sat down beside him, it would have been 
difficult for the oldest friend of the family to determine 
which was Sampson and which Sally, especially as the 
lady carried upon her upper lip certain reddish demon- 
strations, which, if the imagination had been assisted by 
her attire, might have been mistaken for a beard. These 
were, however, in all probability, nothing more than eye- 
lashes in a wrong place, as the eyes of Miss Brass were 
quite free from any such natural impertinences. In 
complexion Miss Brass was sallow — rather a dirty sal- 
low, so to speak — but this hue was agreeably relieved 
by the healthy glow which mantled in the extreme tip 
of her laughing nose. Her voice was exceedingly im- 
pressive — deep and rich in quality, and, once heard, 
not easily forgotten. Her usual dress was a green gown, 
in color not unlike the curtain of the office window, made 
tight to the figure, and terminating at the throat, where 
it was fastened behind by a peculiarly large and massive 
button. Feeling, no doubt, that simplicity and plainness 
are the soul of elegance, Miss Brass wore no collar or 
kerchief except upon her head, which was invariably 
ornamented with a brown gauze scarf, like the wing of 
the fabled vampire, and which, twisted into any form 
that happened to suggest itself, formed an easy and grace- 
ful head-dress. 

Such was Miss Brass in person. In mind, she was of 
a strong and vigorous turn, having from her earliest 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


59 


youth devoted herself with uncommon ardor to the study 
of the law ; not wasting her speculations upon its eagle 
flights, which are rare, but tracing it attentively through 
all the slippery and eel-like crawlings in which it com- 
monly pursues its way. ‘Nor had she, like many persons 
of great intellect, confined herself to theory, or stopped 
short where practical usefulness begins ; inasmuch as she 
could engross, fair-copy, fill up printed forms with perfect 
accuracy, and, in short transact any ordinary duty of tho 
office down to pouncing a skin of parchment or mending 
a pen. It is difficult to understand how, possessed of 
these combined attractions, she should remain Miss 
Brass; but whether she had steeled her heart against 
mankind, or whether those who might have wooed and 
won her, were deterred by fears that, being learned in 
the law, she might have too near her fingers’ ends those 
particular statutes which regulate what are familiarly 
termed actions for breach, certain it is that she was still 
in a state of celibacy, and still in daily occupation of her 
old stool opposite to that of her brother Sampson. And 
equally certain it is, by the way, that between these two 
stools a great many people had come to the ground. 

One morning Mr. Sampson Brass sat upon his stooL 
copying some legal process, and viciously digging his 
pen deep into the paper, as if he were writing upon the 
very heart of the party against whom it was directed ; 
and Miss Sally Brass sat upon her stool making a new 
pen preparatory to drawing out a little bill, which was 
her favorite occupation ; and so they sat in silence for a 
long time, until Miss Brass broke silence. 

“ Have you nearly done, Sammy ? ” said Miss Brass ; 
for in her mild and feminine lips, Sampson became Sam* 
my, and all things were softened down. 


60 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“No/’ returned her brother. “It would have been 
all done though, if you had helped at the right time.” 

“ Oh yes, indeed,” cried Miss Sally ; “ you want my 
help, don’t you ? — you , too, that are going to keep a 
clerk!” 

“ Am I going to keep a clerk for my own pleasure, or 
because of my own wish, you provoking rascal ! ” said 
Mr. Brass, putting his pen in his mouth, and grinning 
spitefully at his sister. “ What do you taunt me about 
going to keep a clerk for ? ” 

It may be observed in this place, lest the fact of Mr. 
Brass calling a lady a rascal, should occasion any won- 
derment or surprise, that he was so habituated to having 
her near him in a man’s capacity, that he had gradually 
accustomed himself to talk to her as though she were 
really a man. And this feeling was so perfectly recipro- 
cal, that not only did Mr. Brass often call Miss Brass a 
rascal, or even put an adjective before the rascal, but 
Miss Brass looked upon it as quite a matter of course, and 
was as little moved as any other lady would be by being 
called an angel. 

“ What do you taunt me, after three hours’ talk last 
night, with going to keep a clerk for?” repeated Mr. 
Brass, grinning again with the pen in his mouth, like 
some nobleman’s or gentleman’s crest. “ Is it my 
fault?” 

“ All I know is,” said Miss Sally, smiling dryly, for she 
delighted in nothing so much as irritating her brother, 
u that if every one of your clients is to force us to keep 
a clerk, whether we want to or not, you had better leave 
off business, strike yourself off the roll, and get taken in 
execution as soon as you can.” 

“ Have we got any other client like him ? ” said Brass: 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


61 


“ Have we got another client like him, now — will you 
answer me that ? ” 

“ Do you mean in the face ! ” said his sister. 

“Do I mean in the face ! ” sneered Sampson Brass, 
reaching over to take up the bill-book, and fluttering its 
leaves rapidly. “ Look here — Daniel Quilp, Esquire 
— Daniel Quilp, Esquire — Daniel Quilp, Esquire — all 
through. Whether should I take a clerk that he recom- 
mends, and says, 6 this is the man for you/ or lose all 
this — eh ? ” 

Miss Sally deigned to make no reply, but smiled 
again, and went on with her work. 

u But I know what it is,” resumed Brass after a short 
silence. “ You’re afraid you won’t have as long a finger 
in the business as you’ve been used to have. Do you 
think I don’t see through that ! ” 

“ The business wouldn’t go on very long, I expect, 
without me,” returned his sister composedly. “ Don’t 
you be a fool and provoke me, Sammy, but mind what 
you’re doing, and do it.” 

Sampson Brass, who was at heart in great fear of his 
sister, sulkily bent over his writing again, and listened 
as she said : 

“ If I determined that the clerk ought not to come, of 
course he wouldn’t be allowed to come. You know that 
well enough, so don’t talk nonsense.” 

Mr. Brass received this observation with increased 
meekness, merely remarking under his breath, that he 
didn’t like that kind of joking, and that Miss Sally would 
be “ a much better fellow ” if she forebore to aggravate 
him. To this compkment Miss Sally replied, that she 
had a relish for the amusement, and had no intention to 
forego its gratification. Mr. Brass not caring, as it 


62 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


seemed, to pursue the subject any further, they both 
plied their pens at a great pace, and there the discussion 
ended. 

While they were thus employed, the window was sud- 
denly darkened, as by some person standing close against 
it. As Mr. Brass and Miss Sally looked up to ascertain 
the cause, the top sash was nimbly lowered from without, 
and Quilp thrust in his head. 

“ Hallo ! ” he said, standing on tiptoe on the window- 
sill, and looking down into the room. “ Is there anybody 
at home ? Is there any of the Devil’s ware here ? Is 
Brass at a premium, eh ? ” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” laughed the lawyer in an affected 
ecstasy, u Oh, very good, sir 1 Oh, very good indeed ! 
Quite eccentric ! Dear me, what humor he has ! ” 

“ Is that my Sally ? ” croaked the dwarf, ogling the 
fair Miss Brass. “ Is it Justice with the bandage off her 
eyes, and without the sword and scales? Is it the 
Strong Arm of the Law ? Is it the Virgin of Bevis ? ” 

“ What an amazing flow of spirits I ” cried Brass. 
“ Upon my word, it’s quite extraordinary ! ” 

“ Open the door,” said Quilp. “ I’ve got him here. 
Such a clerk for you, Brass, such a prize, such an ace of 
trumps. Be quick and open the door, or, if there’s 
another lawyer near and he should happen to look out 
of window, he’ll snap him up before your eyes, lie will.” 

It is probable that the loss of the phoenix of clerks, 
even to a rival practitioner, would not have broken Mr. 
Brass’s heart ; but, pretending great alacrity, he rose 
from his seat, and going to the door, returned, introducing 
his client, who led by the hand no less a person than Mr. 
Richard Swiveller. 

“ There she is,” said Quilp, stopping short at the door, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


63 


and wrinkling up his eyebrows as he looked towards 
Miss Sally ; u there is the woman I ought to have mar* 
ried — there is the beautiful Sarah — there is the female 
who has all the charms of her sex and none of their 
weaknesses. Oh Sally, Sally ! ” 

To this amorous address Miss Brass briefly responded 
‘Bother!” 

“ Hard-hearted as the metal from which she takes her 
name,” said Quilp. “ Why don’t she change it — melt 
down the brass, and take another name ? ” 

“ Hold your nonsense, Mr. Quilp, do,” returned Miss 
Sally, with a grim smile. “I wonder you’re not ashamed 
of yourself before a strange young man ? ” 

“ The strange young man,” said Quilp, handing Dick 
Swiveller forward, “is too susceptible himself, not to 
understand me well. This is Mr. Swiveller, my intimate 
friend — a gentleman of good family and great expecta- 
tions, but who, having rather involved himself by youth- 
ful indiscretion, is content for a time to fill the humble 
station of a clerk — humble, but here most enviable. 
What a delicious atmosphere ! ” 

If Mr. Quilp spoke figuratively, and meant to imply 
that the air breathed by Miss Sally Brass was sweet- 
ened and rarefied by that dainty creature, he had doubt- 
less good reason for wliat he said. But if he spoke of 
the delights of the atmosphere of Mr. Brass’s office in a 
literal sense, he had certainly a peculiar taste, as it was 
of a close and earthy kind, and, besides being frequently 
impregnated with strong whiffs of the second-hand wear- 
ing apparel exposed for sale in Duke’s Place and Houns- 
ditch, had a decided flavor of rats and mice, and a taint 
of mouldiness. Perhaps some doubts of its pure delight 
presented themselves to Mr. Swiveller, as he gave vent 


64 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


to one or two short abrupt sniffs, and looked incredulously 
at the grinning dwarf. 

“ Mr. Swiveller,” said Quilp, “ being pretty well accus- 
tomed to the agricultural pursuits of sowing wild oats, 
Miss Sally, prudently considers that half a loaf is better 
than no bread. To be out of harm’s way he prudently 
thinks is something too, and therefore he accepts your 
brother’s offer. Brass, Mr. Swiveller is yours.” 

“I am very glad, sir,” said Mr. Brass, “very glad 
indeed. Mr. Swiveller, sir, is fortunate to have your 
friendship. You may be very proud, sir, to have the 
friendship of Mr. Quilp.” 

Dick murmured something about never wanting a 
friend or a bottle to give him, and also gasped forth his 
favorite allusion to the wing of friendship and its never 
moulting a feather ; but his faculties appeared to be 
absorbed in the contemplation of Miss Sally Brass, at 
whom he stared with blank and rueful looks, which 
delighted the watchful dwarf beyond measure. As to the 
divine Miss Sally herself, she rubbed her hands as men 
of business do, and took a few turns up and down the 
office with her pen behind her ear. 

“ I suppose,” said the dwarf, turning briskly to his 
legal friend, “ that Mr. Swiveller enters upon his duties 
at once ? It’s Monday morning.” 

“ At once, if you please, sir, by all means,” returned 
Brass. 

“ Miss Sally will teach him law, the delightful study 
of the law,” said Quilp ; “ she’ll be his guide, his friend, 
his companion, his Blackstone, his Coke upon Littleton, 
his Young Lawyer’s Best Companion.” 

“He is exceedingly eloquent,” said Brass, like a man 
abstracted, and looking at the roofs of the opposite 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


65 


houses, with his hands in his pockets : “ he has an 
extraordinary flow of language. Beautiful, really.” 

“With Miss Sally,” Quilp went on, “and the beautiful 
fictions of the law, his days will pass like minutes. 
Those charming creations of the poet, John Doe and 
Richard Roe, when they first dawn upon him, will open 
a new world for the enlargement of his mind and the 
improvement of his heart.” 

“Oh beautiful, beautiful! Beau-ti-ful indeed!” cried 
Brass. “ It’s a treat to hear him ! ” 

“ Where will Mr. Swiveller sit ? ” said Quilp, looking 
round. 

“ Why, we’ll buy another stool, sir,” returned Brass. 
“We hadn’t any thoughts of having a gentleman with 
us, sir, until you were kind enough to suggest it, and our 
accommodation’s not extensive. We’ll look about for a 
second-hand stool, sir. In the meantime, if Mr. Swivel- 
ler will take my seat, and try his hand at a fair copy of 
this ejectment, as I shall be out pretty well all the morn- 
mg 

“Walk with me,” said Quilp. “ I have a word or two 
to say to you on points of business. Can you spare the 
time ? ” 

“ Can I spare the time to walk with you , sir ? You’re 
joking, sir, you’re joking with me,” replied the lawyer, 
putting oil his hat. “ I’m ready, sir, quite ready. My 
time must be fully occupied indeed, sir, not to leave me 
time to walk with you. It’s not everybody, sir, who has 
an opportunity of improving himself by the conversation 
of Mr. Quilp.” 

The dwarf glanced sarcastically at his brazen friend, 
and, with a short dry cough, turned upon his heel to bid 
adieu to Miss Sally. After a very gallant parting or 
5 


VOL. II. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


6G 


his side, and a very cool and gentlemanly sort of onq on 
hers, he nodded to Dick Swiveller, and withdrew with the 
attorney. 

Dick stood at the desk in a state of utter stupefaction, 
staring with all his might at the beauteous Sally, as if 
she had been some curious animal whose like had ne\er 
lived. When the dwarf got into the street, he mounted 
again upon the window-sill, and looked into the office for 
a moment with a grinning face, as a man might peep 
into a cage. Dick glanced upward at him, but without 
any token of recognition ; and long after he had disap- 
peared, still stood gazing upon Miss Sally Brass, seeing 
or thinking of nothing else, and rooted to the spot. 

Miss Brass being by this time deep in the bill of costs, 
took no notice whatever of Dick, but went scratching on, 
with a noisy pen, scoring down the figures with evident 
delight, and working like a steam-engine. There stood 
Dick, gazing now at the green gown, now at the brown 
head-dress, now at the face, and now at the rapid pen, in 
a state of stupid perplexity, wondering how he got into 
the company of that strange monster, and whether it 
was a dream and he would ever wake. At last he 
heaved a deep sigh, and began slowly pulling off his 
coat. 

Mr. Swiveller pulled off his coat, and folded it up 
with great elaboration, staring at Miss Sally all the 
time ; then put on a blue jacket with a double row of 
jilt buttons, which he had originally ordered for aquatic 
expeditions, but had brought with him that morning for 
office purposes ; and still keeping his eye upon her, suf- 
fered himself to drop down silently upon Mr. Brass’s 
stool. Then he underwent a relapse, and becoming pow- 
erless again, rested his chin upon his hand, and opened 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


67 


his eyes so wide, that it appeared quite out of the ques- 
tion that he could ever close them any more. 

When he had looked so long that he could see nothing, 
Dick took his eyes off the fair object of his amazement, 
turned over the leaves of the draft he was to copy 
dipped his pen into the inkstand, and at last, and by slow 
approaches, began to write. But he had not written 
half a dozen words w r lien reaching over to the inkstand 
to take a fresh dip, he happened to raise his eyes. 
There was the intolerable brown head-dress — there 
was the green gown — there, in short, was Miss Sally 
Brass, arrayed in all her charms, and more tremendous 
than ever. 

This happened so often, that Mr. Swiveller by degrees 
began to feel strange influences creeping over him — hor- 
rible desires to annihilate this Sally Brass — mysterious 
promptings to knock her head-dress off* and try how she 
looked without it. There was a very large ruler on the 
table — a large, black, shining ruler. Mr. Swiveller took 
it up and began to rub his nose with it. 

From rubbing his nose with the ruler, to poising it in 
his hand and giving it an occasional flourish after the 
tomahawk manner, the transition was easy and natural. 
In some of these flourishes it went close to Miss Sally’s 
head ; the ragged edges of the head-dress fluttered with 

7 so o 

the wind it raised ; advance it but an inch, and that great 
brown knot was on the ground : yet still the unconscious 
maiden worked away, and never raised her eyes. 

Well, this was a great relief. It was a good thing 
to write doggedly and obstinately until he was desperate, 
and then snatch up the ruler and whirl it about the 
brown head-dress with the consciousness that he could 
have it off* if he liked. It was a good thing to draw it 


68 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


back, and rub his nose very hard with it, if he thought 
Miss Sally was going to look up, and to recompense 
himself with more hardy flourishes when he found she 
was still absorbed. By these means Mr. Swiveller 
calmed the agitation of his feelings, until his appli- 
cations to the ruler became less fierce and frequent, 
and he could even write as many as half a dozen con- 
secutivo lines without having recouise to it, — which 
was a great victory. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


69 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

In course of time, that is to say, after a couple of 
hours or so, of diligent application, Miss Brass arrived 
at the conclusion of her task, and recorded the fact by 
wiping her pen upon the green gown, and taking a 
pinch of snuff from a little round tin box which she 
carried in her pocket. Having disposed of this tem- 
perate refreshment, she arose from her stool, tied her 
papers into a formal packet with red tape, and taking 
them under her arm, marched out of the office. 

Mr. Swiveller had scarcely sprung off his seat and 
commenced the performance of a maniac hornpipe, when 
he was interrupted in the fulness of his joy at being 
again alone, by the opening of the door, and the re- 
appearance of Miss Sally’s head. 

“ I am going out,” said Miss Brass. 

“ Very good, ma’am,” returned Dick. “ And don’t 
hurry yourself on my account to come back, ma’am,” 
he added inwardly. 

“ If anybody comes on office business, take their mes- 
sages, and say that the gentleman who attends to that 
matter isn’t in at present, will you ? ” said Miss Brass. 

“I will, ma’am,” replied Dick. 

“I shan’t be very long,” said Miss Brass, retiring. 

“I’m sorry to hear it, ma’am,” rejoined Dick when 
ehe had shut the door. “I hope you may be unex- 


70 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


pectedly detained, ma’am. If you could manage to be 
run over, ma’am, but not seriously, so much the bet- 
ter.” 

Uttering these expressions of good-will with extreme 
gravity, Mr. Swiveller sat down in the client’s chair 
and pondered ; then took a few turns up and down the 
room and fell into the chair again. 

“ So I’m Brass’s clerk, am I ? ” said Dick. “ Brass’s 
clerk, eh ? And the clerk of Brass’s sister — clerk to 
a female Dragon. Very good, very good ! What shall 
I be next? Shall I be a convict in a felt hat and a 
gray suit, trotting about a dock-yard with my number 
neatly embroidered on my uniform, and the order of 
the garter on my leg, restrained from chafing my ankle 
by a twisted belcher handkerchief? Shall I be that? 
Will that do, or is it too genteel? Whatever you 
please, have it your own way of course.” 

As he was entirely alone, it may be presumed that, 
in these remarks, Mr. Swiveller addressed himself to 
his fate or destiny, whom, as we learn by the prece- 
dents, it is the custom of heroes to taunt in a very 
bitter and ironical manner when they find themselves 
in situations of an unpleasant nature. This is the 
more probable from the circumstance of Mr. Swiveller 
directing his observations to the ceiling which these 
bodiless personages are usually supposed to inhabit — 
except in theatrical cases, when they live in the heart 
of the great chandelier. 

“ Quilp offers me this place, which he says he can 
insure me,” resumed Dick after a thoughtful silence, 
and telling off the circumstances of his position, one by 
one, upon his fingers ; “ Fred, who, I could have taken 
my affidavit, would not have heard of such a thing, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


71 


backs Quilp to my astonishment, and urges me to take 
it also — staggerer, number one ! My aunt in the 
country stops the supplies, and writes an affectionate 
note to say that she has made a new will, and left 
me out of it — staggerer, number two ! No money ; 
no credit; no support from Fred, who seems to turn 
steady all at once ; notice to quit the old lodgings — 
staggerers three, four, five, and six ! Under an accu- 
mulation of staggerers, no man can be considered a 
free agent. No man knocks himself down ; if his des- 
tiny knocks him down, his destiny must pick him up 
again. Then I’m very glad that mine has brought all 
this upon itself, and I shall be as careless as I can 
and make myself quite at home to spite it. So go on 
my buck,” said Mr. Swiveller, taking his leave of the 
ceiling with a significant nod, “and let us see which 
of us will be tired first ! ” 

Dismissing the subject of his downfall with these 
reflections, which were no doubt very profound, and 
are indeed not altogether unknown in certain systems 
of moral philosophy, Mr. Swiveller shook off his de- 
spondency and assumed the cheerful ease of an irre- 
sponsible clerk. 

As a means towards his composure and self-posses- 
sion, he entered into a more minute examination of the 
office than he had yet had time to make ; looked into 
the wig-box, the books, and ink-bottle ; untied and in- 
spected all the papers ; carved a few devices on the 
table with the sharp blade of Mr. Brass’s penknife ; 
and wrote his name on the inside of the wooden coal- 
scuttle. Having, as it were, taken formal possession 
of his clerkship in virtue of these proceedings, he 
opened the window and leaned negligently out of it 


72 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


until a beer-boy happened to pass, whom he commanded 
to set down his tray and to serve him with a pint of 
mild porter, which he drank upon the spot and promptly 
paid for, with the view of breaking ground for a sys- 
tem of future credit and opening a correspondence tend- 
ing thereto, without loss of time. Then, three or four 
little boys dropped in, on legal errands from three or 
four attorneys of the Brass grade : whom Mr. Swivel- 
ler received and dismissed with about as professional a 
manner, and as correct and comprehensive an under- 
standing of their business, as would have been shown 
by a clown in a pantomime under similar circum- 
stances. These things done and over, he got upon his 
stool again and tried his hand at drawing caricatures 
of Miss Brass with pen and ink, whistling very cheer- 
fully all the time. 

He was occupied in this diversion when a coach 
stopped near the door, and presently afterwards there 
was a loud double-knock. As this was no business of 
Mr. Swiveller’s, the person not ringing the office-bell, 
he pursued his diversion with perfect composure, not- 
withstanding that he rather thought there was nobody 
else in the house. 

In this, however, he was mistaken ; for, after the 
knock had been repeated with increased impatience, 
the door was opened, and somebody with a very heavy 
tread went up the stairs and into the room above. 
Mr. Swiveller was wondering whether this might be 
another Miss Brass, twin sister to the Dragon, when 
there came a rapping of knuckles at the office-door. 

“ Come in ! ” said Dick. “ Don’t stand upon cere- 
mony. The business will get rather complicated if I’ve 
many more customers. Come in ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


73 


“Oh, please,” said a little voice very low down in 
the door-way, “ will you come and show the lodgings ? ” 

Dick leant over the table, and descried a small slip- 
shod girl in a dirty coarse apron and bib, which left 
nothing of her visible but her face and feet. She might 
as well have been dressed in a violin-case. 

“ Why, who are you ? ” said Dick. 

To which the only reply was, “ Oh, please will you 
come and show the lodgings ? ” 

There never was such an old-fashioned child in her 
looks and manner. She must have been at work from 
her cradle. She seemed as much afraid of Dick, as 
Dick was amazed at her. 

“I hav’n’t got anything to do with the lodgings,” 
said Dick. “Tell ’em to call again.” 

“ Oh, but please will you come and show the lodg- 
ings,” returned the girl ; “ it’s eighteen shillings a week 
and us finding plate and linen. Boots and clothes is 
extra, and fires in winter-time is eightpence a day.” 

“Why don’t you show ’em yourself? You seem to 
know all about ’em,” said Dick. 

“ Miss Sally said I wasn’t to, because people wouldn’t 
believe the attendance was good if they saw how small 
I was first.” 

“Well, but they’ll see how small you are afterwards, 
won’t they ? ” said Dick. 

“ Ah ! But then they’ll have taken ’em foi a fort- 
night certain,” replied the child with a shrewd look ; 
“and people don’t like moving when they’re once set- 
tled.” 

“ This is a queer sort of thing,” muttered Dick, 
rising. “ What do you mean to say you are — the 
'ook ? ” 


74 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“Yes, I do plain cooking;” replied the child. “Tin 
house-maid too ; I do all the work of the house.” 

“ I suppose Brass and the Dragon and I do the 
dirtiest part of it,” thought Dick. And he might have 
thought much more, being in a doubtful and hesitating 
mood, but that the girl again urged her request, and 
certain mysterious bumping sounds on the passage and 
staircase seemed to give note of the applicant’s impa- 
tience. Richard Swiveller, therefore, sticking a pen 
behind each ear, and carrying another in his mouth as 
a token of his great importance and devotion to busi- 
ness, hurried out to meet and treat with the single 
gentleman. 

He was a little surprised to perceive that the bump- 
ing sounds were occasioned by the progress up-stairs 
of the single gentleman’s trunk, which, being nearly 
twice as wide as the staircase, and exceedingly heavy 
withal, it was no easy matter for the united exertions 
of the single gentleman and the coachman to convey 
up the steep ascent. But there they were, crushing 
each other, and pushing and pulling with all their 
might, and setting the trunk tight and fast in all kinds 
of impossible angles, and to pass them was out of the 
question ; for which sufficient reason, Mr. Swiveller 
followed slowly behind, entering a new protest on every 
stair against the house of Mr. Sampson Brass being 
thus taken by storm. 

To these remonstrances, the single gentleman an- 
swered not a word, but when the trunk was at last got 
into the bedroom, sat down upon it and wiped his bald 
head and face with his handkerchief. He was very 
warm, and well he might be ; for, not to mention the 
exertion of getting the trunk up-stairs, he was closely 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


75 


muffled in winter garments, though the thermometer 
had stood all day at eighty-one in the shade. 

“ I believe, sir,” said Richard Swiveller, taking his 
pen out of his mouth, “ that you desire to look at these 
apartments. They are very charming apartments, sir. 
They command an uninterrupted view of — of over the 
way, and they are within one minute’s walk of — of 
the corner of the street. There is exceedingly mild 
porter, sir, in the immediate vicinity, and the contin- 
gent advantages are extraordinary.” 

“ What’s the rent?” said the single gentleman. 

“ One pound per week,” replied Dick, improving on 
the terms. 

“I’ll take ’em.” 

“ The boots and clothes are extras,” said Dick ; “ and 
the fires in winter-time are” 

“Are all agreed to,” answered the single gentle- 
man. 

“ Two weeks certain,” said Dick, “ are the ” 

“ Two weeks ! ” cried the single gentleman gruffly, 
eying him from top to toe. “ Two years. I shall live 
here for two years. Here. Ten pounds down. The 
bargain’s made.” 

“ Why, you see,” said Dick, “ my name’s not Brass, 
and ” 

“ Who said it was ? My name’s not Brass. Wliat 
then ? ” 

“ The name of the master of the house is,” said 
Dick. 

“ I’m glad of it,” returned the single gentleman ; “ it’s 
a good name for a lawyer. Coachman, you may go. 
So may you, sir.” 

Mr. Swiveller was so much confounded by the single 


76 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


gentleman riding roughshod over him at this rate, that 
he stood looking at him almost as hard as he had looked 
at Miss Sally. The single gentleman, however, was not 
in the slightest degree affected by this circumstance, 
but proceeded with perfect composure to unwind the 
shawl which was tied round his neck, and then to pull 
off his boots. Freed of these incumbrances, he went 
on to divest himself of his other clothing, which he 
folded up, piece by piece, and ranged in order on the 
trunk. Then, he pulled down the window-blinds, drew 
the curtains, wound up his watch, and, quite leisurely 
and methodically, got into bed. 

“ Take down the bill,” were his parting words, as 
he looked out from between the curtains ; “ and let no- 
body call me till I ring the bell.” 

With that the curtains closed, and he seemed to snore 
immediately. 

“ This is a most remarkable and supernatural sort of 
house ! ” said Mr. Swiveller, as he walked into the office 
with the bill in his hand. “ She-dragons in the busi- 
ness, conducting themselves like professional gentlemen ; 
plain cooks of three feet high appearing mysteriously 
from under ground ; strangers walking in and going to 
bed without leave or license in the middle of the day ! 
If he should be one of the miraculous fellows that turn 
up now and then, and has gone to sleep for two years, 
I shall be in a pleasant situation. It’s my destiny, 
however, and I hope Brass may like it. I shall be 
sorry if he don’t. But it’s no business of mine — 1 
have nothing whatever to do with it ! ” 


THF OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


77 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

Mr. Brass on returning home received the report 
of his clerk with much complacency and satisfaction, 
and was particular in inquiring after the ten-pound note, 
which, proving on examination to be a good and law- 
ful note of the Governor and Company of the Bank of 
England, increased his good-humor considerably. In- 
deed he so overflowed with liberality and condescension, 
that, in the fulness of his heart, he invited Mr. Swivel- 
ler to partake of a bowl of punch with him at that 
remote and indefinite period which is currently denom- 
inated “ one of these days,” and paid him many hand- 
some compliments on the uncommon aptitude for busi- 
ness which his conduct on the first day of his devotion 
to it had so plainly evinced. 

It was a maxim with Mr. Brass that the habit of 
paying compliments kept a man’s tongue oiled without 
any expense ; and, as that useful member ought never 
to grow rusty or creak in turning on its hinges in the 
case of a practitioner of the law, in whom it should 
be always glib and easy, he lost few opportunities of 
improving himself by the utterance of handsome speeches 
and eulogistic expressions. And this had passed into 
such a habit with him, that, if he could not be cor- 
rectly said to have his tongue at his fingers’ ends, he 
might certainly be said to have it anywhere but in his 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


i’6 

face : which being, as we have already seen, of a harsh 
and repulsive character, was not oiled so easily, but 
frowned above all the smooth speeches — one of nature’s 
beacons, warning off those who navigated the shoals and 
breakers of the World, or of that dangerous strait the 
Law, and admonishing them to seek less treacherous 
harbors and try their fortune elsewhere. 

While Mr. Brass by turns overwhelmed his clerk 
with compliments, and inspected the ten-pound note, 
Miss Sally showed little emotion and that of no pleasur- 
able kind, for as the tendency of her legal practice had 
been to fix her thoughts on small gains and gripings, 
and to whet and sharpen her natural wisdom, she was 
not a little disappointed that the single gentleman had 
obtained the lodgings at such an easy rate, arguing that 
when he was seen to have set his mind upon them, he 
should have been at the least charged double or treble 
the usual terms, and that, in exact proportion as he 
pressed forward, Mr. Swiveller should have hung back. 
But neither the good opinion of Mr. Brass, nor the dis- 
satisfaction of Miss Sally, wrought any impression upon 
that young gentleman, who, throwing the responsibility 
of this and all other acts and deeds thereafter to be done 
by him, upon his unlucky destiny, was quite resigned 
and comfortable : fully prepared for the worst, and phil- 
osophically indifferent to the best. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, on the 
second day of Mr. Swiveller’s clerkship. “ Sally found 
you a second-hand stool, sir, yesterday evening, in White- 
chapel. She’s a rare fellow at a bargain, I can tell you, 
Mr. Richard. You’ll find that a first-rate stool, sir, take 
my word for it.” 

“ It’s rather a crazy one to look at,” said Dick. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


79 


“ You’ll find it a most amazing stool to sit down upon, 
you may depend,” returned Mr. Brass. “ It was bought 
in the open street just opposite the hospital, and as it 
has been standing there a month or two, it has got 
rather dusty and a little brown from being in the sun 
that’s all.” 

“ I hope it hasn’t got any fevers or anything of that 
sort in it,” said Dick, sitting himself down discontent- 
edly, between Mr. Sampson and the chaste Sally. “ One 
of the legs is longer than the others.” 

“ Then we get a bit of timber in, sir,” retorted Brass. 
“ Ha, ha, ha ! We get a bit of timber in, sir, and 
that’s another advantage of my sister’s going to market 
for us. Miss Brass, Mr. Richard is the ” 

“ Will you keep quiet ? ” interrupted the fair subject 
of these remarks, looking up from her papers. “ How 
am I to work if you keep on chattering ? ” 

“ What an uncertain chap you are ! ” returned the 
lawyer. “ Sometimes you’re all for a chat. At an- 
other time you’re all for work. A man never knows 
what humor he’ll find you in.” 

“I’m in a working humor now,” said Miss Sally, 
“ so don’t disturb me if you please. And don’t take 
him,” Miss Sally pointed with the feather of her pen 
to Richard, “ off his business. He won’t do more than 
he can help, I dare say.” 

Mr. Brass had evidently a strong inclination to mak 
an angry reply, but was deterred by prudent or tirai( 
considerations, as he only muttered something about 
aggravation and a vagabond ; not associating the terms 
with any individual, but mentioning them as connected 
with some abstract ideas which happened to occur to 
him. They went on writing for a long time in si^nc 


80 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


after this — in such a dull silence that Mr. Swiveller 
(who required excitement) had several times fallen 
asleep, and written divers strange words in an unknown 
character with his eyes shut, when Miss Sally at length 
broke in upon the monotony of the office by pulling out 
lie little tin box, taking a noisy pinch of snuff, and then 
expressing her opinion that Mr. Richard Swiveller had 
“ done it.” 

“ Done what, ma’am ? ” said Richard. 

“ Do you know,” returned Miss Brass, “ that the 
lodger isn’t up yet — that nothing has been seen or 
heard of him since he went to bed yesterday after- 
noon ? ” 

“ Well, ma’am,” said Dick, “I suppose he may sleep 
his ten pound out, in peace and quietness, if he likes.” 

“ Ah ! I begin to think he’ll never wake,” observed 
Miss Sally. 

u It’s a, very remarkable circumstance,” said Brass, 
laying down his pen ; “ really, very remarkable. Mr. 
Richard, you’ll remember, if this gentleman should be 
found to have hung himself to the bedpost, or any un- 
pleasant accident of that kind should happen — you’ll 
remember, Mr. Richard, that this ten-pound note was 
given to you in part payment of two years’ rent ? You’ll 
bear that in mind, Mr. Richard ; you had better make a 
note of it, sir, in case you should ever be called upon to 
give evidence.” 

Mr. Swiveller took a large sheet of foolscap, and with 
a countenance of profound gravity, began to make a very 
small ijote in one corner. 

“We can never be too cautious,” said Mr. Brass. 
“ There is a deal of wickedness going about the world, a 
deal of wickedness. Did the gentleman happen to say, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


81 


sir but never mind that at present, sir ; finish that 

little memorandum first.” 

Dick did so, and handed it to Mr. Brass, who had dis- 
mounted from his stool, and was walking up and down 
the office.' 

“ Oh, this is the memorandum, is it ? ” said Brass, 
running his eye over the document. “ Very good. Now, 
Mr. Richard, did the gentleman say anything else ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ Are you sure, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, solemnly, 
“ that the gentleman said nothing else ? ” 

“ Devil a word, sir,” replied Dick. 

“ Think again, sir,” said Brass ; “ it’s my duty, sir, in 
the position in which I stand, and as an honorable mem- 
ber of the legal profession — the first profession in this 
country, sir, or in any other country, or in any of the 
planets that shine above us at night and are supposed to 
be inhabited — it’s my duty, sir, as an honorable mem- 
ber of that profession, not to put to you a leading ques- 
tion in a matter of this delicacy and importance. Did 
the gentleman, sir, who took the first floor of you yester- 
day afternoon, and who brought with him a box of prop- 
erty — a box of property — say anything more than is 
set down in this memorandum ? ” 

“ Come, don’t be a fool,” said Miss Sally. 

Dick looked at her, and then at Brass, and then at 
Miss Sally again, and still said “ No.” 

“ Pooh, pooh ! Deuce take it, Mr. Richard, how dul 
you are ! ” cried Brass, relaxing into a smile. “ Did he 
say anything about his property ? — there ! ” 

“ That’s the way to put it,” said Miss Sally, nodding 
to her brother. 

“ Did he say, for instance,” added Brass, in a kind of 

VOI, IT. 6 


82 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


comfortable, cosey tone — “I don’t assert that he did say 
bo, mind ; I only ask you to refresh your memory — did 
he say, for instance, that he was a stranger in London — 
that it was not his humor or within his ability to gi\e 
any references — that he felt we had a right to require 
them — and that, in case anything should happen to him, 
at any time, he particularly desired that whatever prop- 
erty he had upon the premises should be considered 
mine, as some slight recompense for the trouble and 
annoyance I should sustain — and were you, in short,” 
added Brass, still more comfortably and cosey ly than be- 
fore, “ were you induced to accept him on my behalf, as 
a tenant, upon those conditions ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Dick. 

“ Why, then, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, darting at 
him a supercilious and reproachful look, “ it’s my opin- 
ion that you’ve mistaken your calling, and will never 
make a lawyer.” 

“ Not if you live a thousand years,” added Miss Sally. 
Whereupon the brother and sister took each a noisy 
pinch of snuff from the little tin box, and fell into a 
gloomy thoughtfulness. 

Nothing further passed up to Mr. Swiveller’s dinner- 
time, which was at three o’clock, and seemed about 
three weeks in coming. At the first stroke of the hour 
the new clerk disappeared. At the last stroke of five he 
reappeared, and the office, as if by magic, became fra- 
grant with the smell of gin and water and lemon-peel. 

“Mr. Richard,” said Brass, “this man’s not up yet. 
Nothing will wake him, sir. What’s to be done ? ” 

“ I should let him have his sleep out,” returned Dick. 

“ Sleep out ! ” cried Brass ; “ why he has been asleep 
now, six-and-twenty hours. We have been moving chests 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


83 


of drawers over his head, we have knocked double knocks 
at the street-door, we have made the servant-girl fall 
down-stairs several times, (she’s a light weight, and it 
don’t hurt her much,) but nothing wakes him.” 

44 Perhaps a ladder,” suggested Dick, “ and getting in 
at the first-floor window ” 

“ But then there’s a door between ; besides, the neigh- 
borhood would be up in arms,” said Brass. 

u What do you say to getting on the roof of the house 
through the trap-door, and dropping down the chimney ? ” 
suggested Dick. 

“ That would be an excellent plan,” said Brass, “ if 
anybody would be ” — and here he looked very hard at 
Mr. Swiveller — “ would be kind, and friendly, and 
generous enough, to undertake it. I dare say it would 
not be anything like as disagreeable as one supposes.” 

Dick had made the suggestion, thinking that the duty 
might possibly fall within Miss Sally’s department. As 
he said nothing further, and declined taking the hint, Mr. 
Brass was fain to propose that they should go up-stairs 
together, and make a last effort to awaken the sleeper by 
some less violent means, which, if they failed on this last 
trial, must positively be succeeded by stronger measures. 
Mr. Swiveller, assenting, armed himself with his stool 
and the large ruler, and repaired with his employer to 
I lie scene of action, where Miss Brass was already ring 
ing a hand-bell with all her might, and yet without pro- 
ducing the smallest effect upon their mysterious lodger. 

“ There are his boots, Mr. Richard ! ” said Brass. 

“ Very obstinate-looking articles they are too,” quoth 
Richard Swiveller. And truly, they were as sturdy and 
oluff a pair of boots as one would wish to see ; as firmly 
planted on the ground as if their owner’s legs and feet 


84 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


had been in them ; and seeming, with their broad soles 
and blunt toes, to hold possession of their place by main 
force. 

“ I can’t see anything but the curtain of the bed,” said 
Brass, applying his eye to the key-hole of the door. u Is 
he a strong man, Mr. Richard ? ” 

“ Very,” answered Dick. 

“ It would be an extremely unpleasant circumstance if 
he was to bounce out suddenly,” said Brass. “ Keep 
the stairs clear. I should be more than a match for him, 
of course, but I’m the master of the house, and the laws 
of hospitality must be respected. — Hallo there ! Hallo, 
hallo ! ” 

While Mr. Brass, with his eye curiously twisted into 
the key-hole, uttered these sounds as a means of attract- 
ing the lodger’s attention, and while Miss Brass plied 
the hand-bell, Mr. Swiveller put his stool close against 
the wall by the side of the door, and mounting on the top 
and standing bolt upright, so that if the lodger did make 
a rush, he would most probably pass him in his onward 
fury, began a violent battery with the ruler upon the 
upper panels of the door. Captivated with his own in- 
genuity, and confident in the strength of his position, 
which he had taken up after the method of those hardy 
individuals who open the pit and gallery doors of theatres 
on crowded nights, Mr. Swiveller rained down such a 
shower of blows, that the noise of the bell was drowned ; 
and the small servant, who lingered on the stairs below, 
ready to fly at a moment’s notice, was obliged to hold her 
ears lest she should be rendered deaf for life. 

Suddenly the door was unlocked on the inside, and 
flung violently open. The small servant fled to the coal- 
cellar ; Miss Sally dived into her own bedroom ; Mr. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


85 


Brass, who was not remarkable for personal cpurage, 
ran into the next street, and finding that nobody followed 
him, armed with a poker or other offensive weapon, put 
his hands in his pockets, walked very slowly all at once, 
and whistled. 

Meanwhile Mr. Swiveller, on the top of the stool, 
drew himself into as flat a shape as possible against 
the wall, and looked, not unconcernedly, down upon 
the single gentleman, who appeared at the door growl- 
ing and cursing in a very awful manner, and wfith the 
boots in his hand, seemed to have an intention of hurl- 
ing them down-stairs on speculation. This idea, how- 
ever, he abandoned. He was turning into his room 
again, still growling vengefully, when his eyes met 
those of the watchful Richard. 

“ Have you been making that horrible noise ? ” said 
the single gentleman. 

“I have been helping, sir,” returned Dick, keeping 
his eye upon him, and waving the ruler gently in his 
right hand, as an indication of what the single gentle- 
man had to expect if he attempted any violence. 

“ How dare you then,” said the lodger, “ eh ? ” 

To this, Dick made no other reply than by inquir- 
ing whether the lodger held it to be consistent with 
the conduct and character of a gentleman to go to sleep 
for six-and-twenty hours at a stretch, and whether the 
peace of an amiable and virtuous family was to weigh 
as nothing in the balance. 

Is my peace nothing ? ” said the single gentleman. 

“ Is their peace nothing, sir ? ” returned Dick. “ I 
don’t wish to hold out any threats, sir — indeed the 
law does not allow of threats, for to threaten is an in- 
dictable offence — but if ever you do that again, take 


86 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


care you’re not sat upon by the coroner and buried in 
a cross-road before you wake. We have been dis- 
tracted with fears that you were dead, sir,” said Dick, 
gently sliding to the ground, “and the short and the 
long of it is, that we cannot allow single gentlemen to 
come into this establishment and sleep like double gen- 
tlemen without paying extra for it.” 

“ Indeed ! ” cried the lodger. 

“ Yes, sir, indeed,” returned Dick, yielding to hia 
destiny and saying whatever came uppermost ; “ an 
equal quantity of slumber was never got out of one 
bed and bedstead, and if you’re going to sleep in that 
way, you must pay for a double-bedded room.” 

Instead of being thrown into a greater passion by 
these remarks, the lodger lapsed into a broad grin, and 
looked at Mr. Swiveller with twinkling eyes. He was 
a brown-faced sunburnt man, and appeared browner 
and more sunburnt from having a white nightcap on. 
As it was clear that he was a choleric fellow in some 
respects, Mr. Swiveller was relieved to find him in 
such good humor, and, to encourage him in it, smiled 
himself. 

The lodger, in the testiness of being so rudely roused, 
had pushed his nightcap very much on one side of his 
bald head. This gave him a rakish eccentric air which, 
now that he had leisure to observe it, charmed Mr. 
Swiveller exceedingly ; therefore, by way of propitia- 
tion, he expressed his hope that the gentleman was 
going to get up, and further that he would never do 
so any more. 

“ Come here, you impudent rascal ! ” was the lodger’s 
answer as he reentered his room. 

Mr. Swiveller followed him in, leaving the stool out- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


87 


Bide, but reserving the ruler in case of a surprise. He 
rather congratulated himself on his prudence when the 
single gentleman, without notice or explanation of any 
kind, double-locked the door. 

“ Can you drink anything ? ” was his next inquiry, 

Mr. Swiveller replied that he had very recently been 
assuaging the pangs of thirst, but that he was still open 
to “ a modest quencher,” if the materials were at hand. 
Without another word spoken on either side, the lodger 
took from his great trunk, a kind of temple, shining as 
of polished silver, and placed it carefully on the table. 

Greatly interested in his proceedings, Mr. Swiveller 
observed him closely. Into one little chamber of this 
temple, he dropped an egg ; into another some coffee ; 
into a third a compact piece of raw steak from a neat 
tin case ; into a fourth, he poured some water. Then, 
with the aid of a phosphorus-box and some matches, 
he procured a light and applied it to a spirit-lamp 
which had a place of its own below the temple ; then, 
he shut down the lids of all the little chambers ; then 
he opened them ; and then, by some wonderful and un- 
seen agency, the steak was done, the egg was boiled, 
the coffee was accurately prepared, and his breakfast 
was ready. 

“ Hot water ” — said the lodger, handing it to Mr. 
Swiveller with as much coolness as if he had a kitchen 
fire before him — “ extraordinary rum — sugar — and 
a travelling glass. Mix for yourself. And make 
haste.” 

Dick complied, his eyes wandering all the time from 
the temple on the table, which seemed to do every- 
ihing, to the great trunk which seemed to hold every- 
thing. The lodger took his breakfast like a man who 


88 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


was used to work these miracles, and thought nothing 
of them. 

“ The man of the house is a lawyer, is he not ? ” 
said the lodger. 

Dick nodded. The rum was amazing. 

“ The woman of the house — what’s she ? ” 

“ A dragon,” said Dick. 

The single gentleman, perhaps because he had met 
with such things in his travels, or perhaps because he 
was a single gentleman, evinced no surprise, but merely 
inquired “ Wife or Sister ? ” “ Sister,” said Dick. — “ So 
much the better,” said the single gentleman, “he can 
get rid of her when he likes.” 

“ I want to do as I like, young man,” he added after 
a short silence : “ to go to bed when I like, get up 
when I like, come in when I like, go out when I like, 
— to be asked no questions and be surrounded by no 
spies. In this last respect, servants are the devil. 
There’s only one here.” 

“And a very little one,” said Dick. 

“ And a very little one,” repeated the lodger. “ Well, 
the place will suit me, will it ? ” 

“Yes,” said Dick. 

“ Sharks, I suppose ? ” said the lodger. 

Dick nodded assent, and drained his glass. 

“ Let them know my humor,” said the single gentle- 
man, rising. “If they disturb me, they lose a good 
tenant. If they know me to be that, they know enough. 
If they try to know more, it’s a notice to quit. It’s 
better to understand these things at once. Good-day.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Dick, halting in his pas- 
sage to the door, which the lodger prepared to open. 

When he who adores thee has left but the name ” — 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


89 


“ What do you mean ? ” 

— “But the name,” said Dick — “has left but the 
name — in ease of letters or parcels ” — 

“I never have any,” returned the lodger. 

“Or in case anybody should call.” 

“Nobody ever calls on me.” 

“ If any mistake should arise from not having the 
name, don’t say it was my fault, sir,” added Dick, 
still lingering. — “ Oh blame not the bard ” — 

“ I’ll blame nobody,” said the lodger, with such irasci- 
bility that in a moment Dick found himself on the stair- 
case, and the locked door between them. 

Mr. Brass and Miss Sally were lurking hard by, 
having been, indeed, only routed from the key-hole by 
Mr. Swiveller’s abrupt exit. As their utmost exertions 
had not enabled them to overhear a word of the inter- 
view, however, in congequence of a quarrel for prece- 
dence, which, though limited of necessity to pushes and 
pinches and such quiet pantomime, had lasted the wffiole 
time, they hurried him down to the office to hear his 
account of the conversation. 

This Mr. Swiveller gave them — faithfully as re- 
garded the wishes and character of the single gentle- 
man, and poetically as concerned the great trunk, of 
which he gave a description more remarkable for brill- 
iancy of imagination than a strict adherence to truth; 
declaring, with many strong asseverations, that it con- 
tained a specimen of every kind of rich food and wine, 
known in these times, and in particular that it was of 
a self-acting kind and served up whatever was required, 
as he supposed by clock-work. He also gave them to 
understand that the cooking apparatus roasted a tine 
piece of sirloin of beef, weighing about six pounds 


90 


THE 7 OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


avoirdupois, in two minutes and a quarter, as he had 
himself witnessed, and proved by his sense of taste; 
and further, that, however the effect was produced, he 
had distinctly seen water boil and bubble up when the 
single gentleman winked ; from which facts he (Mr 
Swiveller) was led to infer that the lodger was somo 
great conjurer or chemist, or both, w r hose residence un- 
der that roof could not fail at some future day to shed 
a great credit and distinction on the name of Brass, 
and add a new interest to the history of Bevis Marks. 

There was one point which Mr. Swiveller deemed 
it unnecessary to enlarge upon, and that was the fact 
of the modest quencher, which, by reason of its intrinsic 
strength and its coming close upon the heels of the tem- 
perate beverage he had discussed at dinner, awakened 
a slight degree of fever, and rendered necessary two or 
three other modest quenchers at the public-house in the 
course of the evening. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


91 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

As the single gentleman after some weeks’ occupation 
of his lodgings, still declined to correspond, by word or 
gesture, either with Mr. Brass or his sister Sally, but 
invariably chose Richard Swiveller as his channel of 
communication ; and as he proved himself in all respects 
a highly desirable inmate, paying for everything before- 
hand, giving very little trouble, making no noise, and 
keeping early hours ; Mr. Richard imperceptibly rose to 
an important position in the family, as one who had in- 
fluence over this mysterious lodger, and could negotiate 
with him, for good or evil, when nobody else durst ap- 
proach his person. 

If the truth must be told, even Mr. Swiveller’s ap- 
proaches to the single gentleman were of a very distant 
kind, and met with small encouragement ; but, as he 
never returned from a monosyllabic conference with the 
unknown, without quoting such expressions as u Swiv- 
eller, I know I can rely upon you,” — “ I have no hes- 
itation in saying, Swiveller, that I entertain a regard for 
you,” “ Swiveller, you are my friend, and will stand 
by me I am sure,” with many other short speeches of 
the same familiar and confiding kind, purporting to have 
been addressed by the single gentleman to himself, and 
to form the staple of their ordinary discourse, neither 
Mr. Brass nor Miss Sally for a moment questioned the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


9 * 

extent of his influence, but accorded to him their fullest 
and most unqualified belief. 

But quite apart from, and independent of, this source 
of popularity, Mr. Swiveller had another, which prom- 
ised to be equally enduring, and to lighten his position 
considerably. 

He found favor in the eyes of Miss Sally Brass. Let 
not the light scorners of female fascination erect their ears 
to listen to a new tale of love which shall serve them for 
a jest ; for Miss Brass, however accurately formed to be 
beloved, was not of the loving kind. That amiable virgin, 
having clung to the skirts of the Law from her earliest 
youth ; having sustained herself by their aid, as it were, 
in her first running alone, and maintained a firm grasp 
upon them ever since ; had passed her life in a kind of 
legal childhood. She had been remarkable, when a ten- 
der prattler, for an uncommon talent in counterfeiting 
the walk and manner of a bailiff: in which character she 
had learned to tap her little playfellows on the shoulder, 
and to carry them off to imaginary sponging-houses, 
with a correctness of imitation which was the surprise 
and delight of all who witnessed her performances, and 
which was only to be exceeded by her exquisite manner 
of putting an execution into her doll’s house, and taking 
an exact inventory of the chairs and tables. These art- 
less sports had naturally soothed and cheered the decline 
of her widowed father : a most exemplary gentleman, 
(called “ old Foxey,” by his friends, from his extreme 
sagacity,) who encouraged them to the utmost, and 
whose chief regret on finding that he drew near to 
Houndsditch church-yard, was, that his daughter could 
not take out an attorney’s certificate and hold a place 
upon the roll. Filled with this affectionate and touching 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


93 


Borrow, he had solemnly confided her to his son Sampson 
as an invaluable auxiliary ; and from the old gentle- 
man’s decease to the period of which we treat, Miss 
Sally Brass had been the prop and pillar of his busi- 
ness. 

It is obvious that, having devoted herself from infancy 
to this one pursuit and study, Miss Brass could know 
but little of the world, otherwise than in connection with 
the law ; and that from a lady gifted with such high 
tastes, proficiency in those gentler and softer arts in 
which women usually excel, was scarcely to be looked 
for. Miss Sally’s accomplishments were all of a mascu- 
line and strictly legal kind. They began with the prac- 
tice of an attorney and they ended with it. She was in 
a state of lawful innocence, so to speak. The law had 
been her nurse. And, as bandy-legs or such physical de- 
formities in children are held to be the consequence of 
bad nursing, so, if in a mind so beautiful any moral 
twist or bandiness could be found, Miss Sally Brass’s 
nurse was alone to blame. 

It was on this lady, then, that Mr. Swiveller burst in 
full freshness as something new and hitherto undreamed 
of, lighting up the office with scraps of song and merri- 
ment, conjuring with inkstands and boxes of wafers, 
catching three oranges in one hand, balancing stools upon 
his chin and penknives on his nose, and constantly per- 
forming a hundred other feats with equal ingenuity ; for 
with such unbendings did Richard, in Mr. Brass’s 
absence, relieve the tedium of his confinement. These 
social qualities, which Miss Sally first discovered by ac- 
cident, gradual^ made such an impression upon her, that 
she would entreat Mr. Swiveller to relax, as though she 
were not by, which Mr. Swiveller, nothing loath, would 


94 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


readily consent to do. By these means a friendship 
sprung up between them. Mr. Swiveller gradually 
came to look upon her as her brother Sampson did, and 
as he would have looked upon any other clerk. He im- 
parted to her the mystery of going the odd man or plain 
Newmarket for fruit, ginger-beer, baked potatoes, or 
even a modest quencher, of which Miss Brass did not 
scruple to partake. He would often persuade her to 
undertake his share of writing in addition to her own ; 
nay, he would sometimes reward her with a hearty slap 
on the back, and protest that she was a devilish good 
fellow, a jolly dog, and so forth ; all of which compli- 
ments Miss Sally would receive in entire good part and 
with perfect satisfaction. 

One circumstance troubled Mr. Swiveller’s mind very 
much, and that was that the small servant always re- 
mained somewhere in the bowels of the earth under 
Bevis Marks, and never came to the surface unless the 
single gentleman rang his bell, when she would answer 
it and immediately disappear again. She never went 
out, or came into the office, or had a clean face, or took 
off the coarse apron, or looked out of any one of the 
windows, or stood at the street-door for a breath of air, 
or had any rest or enjoyment whatever. Nobody ever 
came to see her, nobody spoke of her, nobody cared about 
her. Mr. Brass had said once, that he believed she was 
a “ love-child,” (which means anything but a child of 
love,) and that was all the information Richard Swiv- 
eller could obtain. 

“ IPs of no use asking the dragon,” thought Dick one 
day, as he sat contemplating the features of Miss Sally 
Brass. “ I suspect if I asked any questions on that 
head, our alliance would be at an end. I wonder 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


95 


whether she is a dragon by the by, or something in the 
mermaid way. She has rather a scaly appearance* 
But mermaids are fond of looking at themselves in 
the glass, which she can’t be. And they have a habit 
of combing their hair, which she hasn’t. No, she’s a 
dragon.” 

“ Where are you going, old fellow ? ” said Dick ale ml, 
as Miss Sally wiped her pen as usual on the green dress, 
and uprose from her seat. 

“ To dinner,” answered the dragon. 

u To dinner!” thought Dick, “that’s another circum- 
stance. I don’t believe that small servant ever has any- 
thing to eat.” 

“ Sammy won’t be home,” said Miss Brass. “ Stop 
till I come back. I sha’n’t be long.” 

Dick nodded, and followed Miss Brass — with his eyes 
to the door, and with his ears to a little back-parlor, 
where she and her brother took their meals. 

“ Now,” said Dick, walking up and down with his 
hands in his pockets, “ I’d give something — if I had it 
— to know how they use that child, and where they 
keep her. My mother must have been a very inquisi- 
tive woman ; I have no doubt I’m marked with a note 
of interrogation somewhere. My feelings I smother, but 
thou hast been the cause of this anguish my — upon my 
word,” said Mr. Swiveller, checking himself and falling 
thoughtfully into the client’s chair, 66 1 should like to 
know how they use her ! ” 

After running on, in this way, for some time, Mr, 
Swiveller softly opened the office-door, with the inten- 
tion of darting across the street for a glass of the mild 
porter. At that moment he caught a parting glimpse 
of the brown head-dress of Miss Brass flitting down tLe 


96 


THi? OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


kitchen-stairs. “ And by Jove ! ” thought Dick, u she’s 
going to feed the Marchioness. Now or never ! ” 

First peeping over the hand-rail and allowing the 
head-dress to disappear in the darkness below, he groped 
his way down, and arrived at the door of a back kitchen 
immediately after Miss Brass had entered the same, 
bearing in her hand a cold leg of mutton. It was a 
very dark miserable place, very low, and very damp : 
the walls disfigured by a thousand rents and blotches. 
The water was trickling out of a leaky butt, and a most 
wretched cat was lapping up the drops with the sickly 
eagerness of starvation. The grate, which was a wide 
one, was wound and screwed up tight, so as to hold no 
more than a little thin sandwich of fire. Everything 
was locked up ; the coal-cellar, the candle-box, the salt- 
box, the meat-safe, were all padlocked. There was 
nothing that a beetle could have lunched upon. The 
pinched and meagre aspect of the place would have 
killed a chameleon : he would have known, at the first 
mouthful, that the air was not eatable, and must have 
given up the ghost in despair. 

The small servant stood with humility in presence of 
Miss Sally, and hung her head. 

“ Are you there ? ” said Miss Sally. 

“ Yes, ma’am,” was the answer in a weak voice. 

“ Go farther away from the leg of mutton or you’ll be 
picking it, I know,” said Miss Sally. 

The girl withdrew into a corner, while Miss Brass took 
a key from her pocket, and opening the safe, brought 
from it a dreary waste of cold potatoes, looking as eat- 
able as Stonehenge. This she placed before the small 
servant, ordering her to sit down before it, and then, tak- 
ing up a great carving-knife, made a mighty show of 
sharpening it upon the carving-fork. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


97 


u Do you see this ? ” said Miss Brass, slicing off about 
two square inches of cold mutton, after all this prepara- 
tion, and holding it out on the point of the fork. 

The small servant looked hard enough at it with her 
hungry eyes to see every shred of it, small as it was, and 
answered, “yes.” 

“ Then don’t you ever go and say,” retorted Miss Sal- 
ly, “ that you hadn’t meat here. There, eat it up.” 

This was soon done. “ Now, do you want any more ? ” 
said Miss Sally. 

The hungry creature answered with a faint “ No.” 
They were evidently going through an established 
form. 

“ You’ve been helped once to meat,” said Miss Brass, 
summing up the facts ; “ you have had as much as you 
can eat, you’re asked if you want any more, and you 
answer, ‘no!’ Then don’t you ever go and say you 
were allowanced, mind that.” 

With those words, Miss Sally put the meat away and 
locked the safe, and then drawing near to the small ser- 
vant, overlooked her while she finished the potatoes. 

It was plain that some extraordinary grudge was 
working in Miss Brass’s gentle breast, and that it was 
this which impelled her, without the smallest present 
cause, to rap the child with the blade of the knife, now 
on her hand, now on her head, and now on her back, as 
if she found it quite impossible to stand so close to her 
without administering a few slight knocks. But Mr. 
Swiveller was not a little surprised to see his fellow- 
clerk, after walking slowly backwards towards the door, 
as if she were trying to withdraw herself from the room 
but could not accomplish it, dart suddenly forward, and 
falling on the small servant give her some hard blows 
von ii. 7 


98 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


with her clenched hand. The victim cried, but in a sub- 
dued manner as if she feared to raise her voice, and Miss 
Sally, comforting herself with a pinch of snuff, ascended 
the stairs, just as Richard had safely reached the of- 
fice. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


99 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

The single gentleman among his other peculiarities — 
Find he had a very plentiful stock, of which he every day 
furnished some new specimen — took a most extraordi- 
nary and remarkable interest in the exhibition of Punch. 
If the sound of a Punch’s voice, at ever so remote a dis- 
tance, reached Be vis Marks, the single gentleman, though 
in bed and asleep, would start up, and, hurrying on his 
clothes, make for the spot with all speed, and presently 
return at the head of a long procession of idlers, having 
in the midst the theatre and its proprietors. Straight- 
way, the stage would be set up in front of Mr. Brass’s 
house ; the single gentleman would establish himself at 
the first floor window ; and the entertainment would pro- 
ceed, with all its exciting accompaniments of fife and 
drum and shout, to the excessive consternation of all 
sober votaries of business in that silent thoroughfare. 
It might have been expected that when the play was 
done, both players and audience would have dispersed ; 
but the epilogue was as bad as the play, for no soonei 
was the Devil dead, than the manager of the puppets 
and his partner were summoned by the single gentleman 
to his chamber, where they were regaled with strong 
waters from his private store, and where they held with 
him long conversations, the purport of which no human 
being could fathom. But the secret of these discussions 


100 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


was of little importance. It was sufficient to know that 
while they were proceeding, the concourse without still 
lingered round the house ; that boys beat upon the drum 
with their fists, and imitated Punch with their tender 
voices : that the office-window was rendered opaque by 
flattened noses ; and the key-hole of the street-door lu- 
minous with eyes ; that every time the single gentleman 
or either of his guests was seen at the upper window, or 
so much as the end of one of their noses was visible, 
there was a great shout of execration from the excluded 
mob, who remained howling and yelling, and refusing 
consolation, until the exhibitors were delivered up to 
them to be attended elsewhere. It was sufficient, in 
short, to know that Bevis Marks was revolutionized by 
these popular movements, and that peace and quietness 
fled from its precincts. 

Nobody was rendered more indignant by these pro- 
ceedings than Mr. Sampson Brass, who, as he could by 
no means afford to lose so profitable an inmate, deemed 
it prudent to pocket his lodger’s affront along with his 
cash, and to annoy^the audiences who clustered round his 
door by such imperfect means of retaliation as were 
open to him, and which were confined to the trickling 
down of foul water on their heads from unseen watering- 
pots, pelting them with fragments of tile and mortar from 
the roof of the house, and bribing the drivers of hack- 
ney cabriolets to come suddenly round the corner and 
dash in among them precipitately. It may, at first sight, 
be matter of surprise to the thoughtless few that Mr. 
Brass, being a professional gentleman, should not have 
legally indicted some party or parties, active in the pro- 
motion of the nuisance ; but they will be good enough to 
remember, that as Doctors seldom take their own pre- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


101 


6criptions, and Divines do not always practise what they 
preach, so, lawyers are shy of meddling with the Law on 
their own account ; knowing it to be an edged tool of 
uncertain application, very expensive in the working, 
and rather remarkable for its properties of close shavings 
than for its always shaving the right person. 

“ Come,” said Mr. Brass one afternoon, “ this is two 
days without a Punch. Pm in hopes he has run through 
'em all, at last.” 

“ Why are you in hopes ? ” returned Miss Sally. 
“ What harm do they do ? ” 

“ Here’s a pretty sort of a fellow ! ” cried Brass, lay- 
ing down his pen in despair. “ Now here’s an aggra- 
vating animal ! ” 

“ Well, what harm do they do ?” retorted Sally. 

“ What harm ! ” cried Brass. “ Is it no harm to have 
a constant hallooing and hooting under one’s very nose, 
distracting one from business, and making one grind one’s 
teeth with vexation ? Is it no harm to be blinded and 
choked up, and have the king’s highway stopped with a 
set of screamers and roarers, whose throats must be 
made of — of” — 

“ Brass,” suggested Mr. Swiveller. 

“ Ah ! of brass,” said the lawyer, glancing at his clerk, 
to assure himself that he had suggested the word in good 
faith, and without any sinister intention. “Is that no 
harm ? ” 

The lawyer stopped short in his invective, and listen- 
ing for a moment, and recognizing the well-known voice, 
rested his head upon his hand, raised his eyes to the ceil- 
ing, and muttered faintly, — 

“ There’s another ! ” 

Up went the single gentleman’s window directly. 


102 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ There’s another,” repeated Brass ; “ and if I could 
get a break and four blood horses to cut into the Marks 
when the crowd is at its thickest, I’d give eighteenpence 
and never grudge it ! ” 

The distant squeak was heard again. The single gen- 
tleman’s door burst open. He ran violently down the 
stairs, out into the street, and so past the window, with- 
out any hat, towards the quarter whence the sound pro- 
ceeded — bent, no doubt, upon securing the strangers’ 
services directly. 

“ I wish I only knew who his friends were,” muttered 
Sampson, filling his pocket with papers ; “ if they’d just 
get up a pretty little Commission de lunatico at the 
Gray’s Inn Coffee House, and give me the job, I’d be 
content to have the lodgings empty for one while, at all 
events.” 

With which words, and knocking his hat over his eyes 
as if for the purpose of shutting out even a glimpse of 
the dreadful visitation, Mr. Brass rushed from the house 
and hurried away. 

As Mr. Swiveller was decidedly favorable to these 
performances, upon the ground that looking at a Punch, 
or indeed looking at anything out of window, was better 
than working ; and as he had been, for this reason, at 
some pains to awaken in his fellow clerk a sense of their 
beauties and manifold deserts ; both he and Miss Sally 
rose as with one accord and took up their positions at the 
window : upon the sill whereof, as in a post of honor, 
sundry young ladies and gentlemen who were employed 
in the dry nurture of babies, and who made a point of 
being present, with their young charges, on such occa- 
sions, had already established themselves as comfortably 
as the circumstances would allow. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


103 


The glass being dim, Mr. Swiveller, agreeably to a 
friendly custom which he had established between them, 
hitched off the brown head-dress from Miss Sally’s head, 
and dusted it carefully therewith. By the time he had 
handed it back, and its beautiful wearer had put it on 
again (which she did with perfect composure and indiffer 
ence), the lodger returned with the show and showmen 
at his heels, and a strong addition to the body of specta- 
tors. The exhibitor disappeared with all speed behind 
the drapery ; and his partner, stationing himself by the 
side of the Theatre, surveyed the audience with a re- 
markable expression of melancholy, which became more 
remarkable still when he breathed a hornpipe tune into 
that sweet musical instrument which is popularly termed 
a mouth-organ, without at all changing the mournful ex- 
pression of the upper part of his face, though his mouth 
and chin were, of necessity, in lively spasms. 

The drama proceeded to its close, and held the specta- 
tors enchained in the customary manner. The sensation 
which kindles in large assemblies, when they are relieved 
from a state of breathless suspense and are again free to 
speak and move, was yet rife, when the lodger, as usual, 
summoned the men up-stairs. 

“ Both of you,” he called from the window ; for only 
the actual exhibitor — a little fat man — prepared to 
obey the summons. “ I want to talk to you. Come 
both of you ! ” 

“ Come, Tommy,” said the little man. 

“I a’n’t a talker,” replied the other. “Tell him so. 
What should I go and talk for ? ” 

“Don’t you see the gentleman’?) got a bottle and glass 
tip there ? ” returned the little man. 

“ And couldn’t you have said so, at first ? ” retorted 


104 


TIIE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the other with sudden alacrity. “ Now, what are you 
waiting for? Are you going to keep the gentleman ex 
pecting us all day? haven’t you no manners ?” 

With this remonstrance, the melancholy man, who was 
no other than Mr. Thomas Codlin, pushed past his friend 
and brother in the craft, Mr. Harris, otherwise Short or 
Trotters, and hurried before him to the single gentleman’s 
apartment. 

“ Now my men,” said the single gentleman ; u you have 
done very well. What will you take ? Tell that little 
man behind to shut the door.” 

“ Shut the door, can’t you ? ” said Mr. Codlin, turning 
gruffly to his friend. “ You might have knowed that the 
gentleman wanted the door shut, without being told, I 
think.” 

Mr. Short obeyed, observing under his breath that his 
friend seemed unusually “ cranky,” and expressing a hope 
that there was no dairy in the neighborhood, or his temper 
would certainly spoil its contents. 

The gentleman pointed to a couple of chairs, and inti- 
mated by an emphatic nod of his head that he expected 
them to be seated. Messrs. Codlin and Short, after look- 
ing at each other with considerable doubt and indecision, 
at length sat down — each on the extreme edge of the 
chair pointed out to him — and held their hats very 
tight, while the single gentleman filled a couple of glasses 
from a bottle on the table beside him, and presented them 
in due form. 

“ You’re pretty well browned by the sun both of 
you,” said their entertainer. “ Have you been travel- 
ling ? ” 

Mr. Short replied in the affirmative with a nod and a 
smile. Mr. Codlin added a corroborative nod and a short 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


105 


groan, as if he still felt the weight of the Temple on his 
shoulders. 

“To fairs, markets, races, and so forth, I suppose?” 
pursued the single gentleman. 

“ Yes sir,” returned Short, “ pretty nigh all over th 
West of England.” 

“ I have talked to men of your craft from North, 
East, and South,” returned their host, in rather a hasty 
manner ; “ but I never lighted on any from the West 
before.” 

“ It’s our reg’lar summer circuit is the West, master,” 
said Short ; “that’s where it is. We takes the East of 
London in the spring and winter, and the West of Eng- 
land in the summer time. Many’s the hard day’s walk- 
ing in rain and mud, and with never a penny earned, 
we’ve had down in the West.” 

“ Let me fill your glass again.” 

“ Much obleeged to you sir, I think I will,” said Mr. 
Codlin, suddenly thrusting in his own and turning Short’s 
aside. “ I’m the sufferer, sir, in all the travelling, and 
in all the staying at home. In town or country, wet or 
dry, hot or cold, Tom Codlin suffers. But Tom Codlin 
isn’t to complain for all that. Oh, no ! Short may 
complain, but if Codlin grumbles by so much as a word 
— oh dear, down with him, down with him directly. It 
isn’t his place to grumble. That’s quite out of the ques- 
tion.” 

“ Codlin a’n’t without his usefulness,” observed Short 
with an arch look, “ but he don’t always keep his eyes 
open. He falls asleep sometimes, you know. Remem- 
ber them last races, Tommy.” 

“ Will you never leave off aggravating a man ? ” said 
Codlin. “ It’s very like I was asleep when five-and-ten- 


106 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


pence was collected, in one round, isn’t it ? I was at« 
tending to my business, and couldn’t have my eyes in 
twenty places at once, like a peacock, no more than you 
could. If I a’n’t a match for an old man and a young 
child, you a’n’t neither, so don’t throw that out against 
me, for the cap fits your head quite as correct as it fits 
mine.” 

“ You may as well drop the subject, Tom,” said 
Short. “ It isn’t particular agreeable to the gentleman, 
I dare say.” 

“ Then you shouldn’t have brought it up,” returned 
Mr. Codlin ; “ and I ask the gentleman’s pardon on your 
account, as a giddy chap that likes to hear himself talk, 
and don’t much care what he talks about, so that he does 
talk.” 

Their entertainer had sat perfectly quiet in the begin- 
ning of this dispute, looking first at one man and then at 
the other, as if he were lying in wait for an opportunity 
of putting some further question, or reverting to that 
from which the discourse had strayed. But, from the 
point where Mr. Codlin was charged with sleepiness, he 
had shown an increasing interest in the discussion : which 
now attained a very high pitch. 

“ You are the two men I want,” he said, w the two 
men I have been looking for, and searching after ! 
Where are that old man and that child you speak 
of?” 

“ Sir ? ” said Short, hesitating and looking towards his 
friend. 

“ The old man and his grandchild who travelled with 
you — where are they ? It will be worth your while to 
speak out, I assure you ; much better worth your while 
than you believe. They left you, you say, — at those 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


107 


races, an I understand. They have been traced to that 
place, and there lost sight of. Have you no clue, can 
you suggest no clue, to their recovery ? ” 

“ Did I always say, Thomas,” cried Short, turning 
with a look of amazement to his friend, “ that there was 
sure to be an inquiry after them two travellers ? ” 

44 You said ! ” returned Mr. Codlin. 44 Did I always 
say that that ’ere blessed child was the most interesting I 
ever see ? Did I always say I loved her, and doated on 
her ? Pretty creetur, I think I hear her now. 4 Cod- 
lin’s my friend,’ she says with a tear of gratitude a- 
trickling down her little eye ; 4 Codlin’s my friend,’ she 
says — 4 not Short. Short’s very well,’ she says ; 4 I’ve 
no quarrel with Short ; he means kind, I dare say ; but 
Codlin,’ she says, 4 has the feelings for my money, though 
he mayn’t look it.’ ” 

Repeating these words with great emotion, Mr. Cod- 
lin rubbed the bridge of his nose with his coat-sleeve, 
and shaking his head mournfully from side to side, left 
the single gentleman to infer that, from the moment 
when he lost sight of his dear young charge, his peace 
of mind and happiness had fled. 

44 Good heaven ! ” said the single gentleman, pacing 
up and down the room, 44 have I found these men at 
last, only to discover that they can give me no information 
or assistance ! It would have been better to have lived 
on, in hope, from day to day, and never to have lighted 
on them, than to have my expectations scattered thus.” 

44 Stay a minute,” said Short. 44 A man of the name 
of Jerry — you know Jerry, Thomas ? ” 

44 Oh, don’t talk to me of Jerrys,” replied Mr. Cod- 
lin. 44 How can I care a pinch of snuff for Jerrys, 
when I think of that ’ere darling child ? 4 Codlin’s my 


108 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


friend,’ she says, 4 dear, good, kind Codlin, as is always a- 
de vising pleasures for me ! I don’t object to Short,’ she 
says, 4 but I cotton to Codlin.’ Once,” said that gentle- 
man reflectively, 44 she called me Father Codlin. I 
thought I should have bu’st ! ” 

44 A man of the name of Jerry, sir,” said Short, turn- 
ing from his selfish colleague to their new acquaintance, 
44 wot keeps a company of dancing-dogs, told me in a 
accidental sort of a way, that he had seen the old gen- 
tleman in connection with a travelling wax-work, unbe- 
known to him. As they’d give us the slip, and nothing 
had come of it, and this was down in the country that 
he’d been seen, I took no measures about it, and asked 
no questions — But I can, if you like.” 

44 Is this man in town ? ” said the impatient single 
gentleman. 44 Speak faster.” 

44 No he isn’t, but he will be to-morrow, for he lodges 
in our house,” replied Mr. Short rapidly. 

44 Then bring him here,” said the single gentleman. 
44 Here’s a sovereign apiece. If I can find these people 
through your means, it is but a prelude to twenty more. 
Return to me to-morrow, and keep your own counsel on 
this subject — though I need hardly tell you that, for 
you’ll do so for your own sakes. Now, give me your 
address, and leave me.” 

The address was given, the two men departed, the 
crowd went with them, and the single gentleman for two 
mortal hours walked in uncommon agitation up and 
down his room, over the wondering heads of Mr. Swiv- 
eller and Miss Sally Brass. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


109 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Kit — for it happens at this juncture, not only that 
we have breathing time to follow his fortunes, but that 
the necessities of these adventures so adapt themselves 
to our ease and inclination as to call upon us impera- 
tively to pursue the track we most desire to take — Kit, 
while the matters treated of in the last fifteen chapters 
were yet in progress, was, as the reader may suppose, 
gradually familiarizing himself more and more with Mr. 
and Mrs. Garland, Mr. Abel, the pony, and Barbara, 
and gradually coming to consider them one and all as 
his particular private friends, and Abel Cottage, Finch- 
ley, as his own proper home. 

Stay — the words are written, and may go, but if 
they convey any notion that Kit, in the plentiful board 
and comfortable lodging of his new abode, began to 
think slightingly of the poor fare and furniture of his 
old dwelling, they do their office badly and commit injus- 
tice. Who so mindful of those he left at home — albeit 
they were but a mother and two young babies — as Kit? 
What boastful father in the fulness of his heart ever 
related such wonders of his infant prodigy, as Kit never 
wearied of telling Barbara in the evening time, concern- 
ing little Jacob ? Was there ever such a mother as 
Kit's mother, on her son’s showing; or was there ever 
such comfort in poverty as in the poverty of Kit’s fam- 


no 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ily, if any correct judgment might be arrived at, from 
his own glowing account ! 

And let me linger in this place, for an instant, to 
remark that if ever household affections and loves are 
graceful things, they are graceful in the poor. The tie? 
that bind the wealthy and the proud to home may be 
forged on earth, but those which link the poor man tc 
his humble hearth are of the truer metal and bear the 
stamp of Heaven. The man of high descent may love 
the halls and lands of his inheritance as a part of him- 
self : as trophies of his birth and power ; his associations 
with them are associations of pride and wealth and tri- 
umph ; the poor man’s attachment to the tenement he 
holds, which strangers have held before, and may to- 
morrow occupy again, has a worthier root, struck deep 
into a purer soil. His household gods are of flesh and 
blood, with no alloy of silver, gold, or precious stone ; he 
has no property but in the affections of his own heart ; 
and when they endear bare floors and walls, despite of 
rags and toil and scanty fare, that man has his love of 
home from God, and his rude hut becomes a solemn place. 

Oh ! if those who rule the destinies of nations would 
but remember this — if they would but think how hard 
it is for the very poor to have engendered in their hearts, 
that love of home from which all domestic virtues spring, 
when they live in dense and squalid masses where social 
decency is lost, or rather never found, — if they wouh 
but turn aside from the wide thoroughfares and grea 
houses, and strive to improve the wretched dwellings in 
by-ways where only Poverty may walk, — many low 
roofs would point more truly to the sky, than the loftiest 
itceple that now rears proudly up from the midst of guilt, 
Sind crime, and horrible disease, to mock them by its con- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Ill 


trast. In hollow voices from Workhouse, Hospital, and 
Jail, this truth is preached from day to day, and has been 
proclaimed for years. It is no light matter — no outcry 
from the working vulgar — no mere question of the peo- 
ple’s health and comforts that may be whistled down on 
Wednesday nights. In love of home, the love of coun- 
try has its rise ; and who are the truer patriots, or the 
better in time of need — those who venerate the land, 
owning its wood, and stream, and earth, and all that they 
produce ? or those who love their country, boasting not 
a foot of ground in all its wide domain ! 

Kit knew nothing about such questions, but he knew 
that his old home was a very poor place, and that his 
new one was very unlike it, and yet he was constantly 
looking back with grateful satisfaction and affectionate 
anxiety, and often indited square-folded letters to his 
mother, enclosing a shilling or eighteen-pence or such 
other small remittance, which Mr. Abel’s liberality en- 
abled him to make. Sometimes, being in the neighbor- 
hood, he had leisure to call upon her, and then, great 
was the joy and pride of Kit’s mother, and extremely 
noisy the satisfaction of little Jacob and the baby, and 
cordial the congratulations of the whole court, who lis- 
tened with admiring ears to the accounts of Abel Cot- 
tage, and could never be told too much of its wonders 
and magnificence. 

Although Kit was in the very highest favor with the 
old lady and gentleman, and Mr. Abel, and Barbara, 
it is certain that no member of the family evinced such 
a remarkable partiality for him as the self-willed pony, 
who, from being the most obstinate and opinionated 
pony on the face of the earth, was, in his hands, the 
meekest and most tractable of animals. It is true that 


112 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


in exact proportion as be became manageable by Kit 
he became utterly ungovernable by anybody else, (as 
if he had determined to keep him in the family at all 
risks and hazards,) and that, even under the guidance 
of his favorite, he would sometimes perform a great 
variety of strange freaks and capers, to the extreme 
discomposure of the old lady’s nerves ; but as Kit always 
represented that this was only his fun, or a way he had 
of showing his attachment to his employers, Mrs. Gar- 
land gradually suffered herself to be persuaded into the 
belief, in which she at last became so strongly confirmed, 
that if, in one of these ebullitions, he had overturned 
the chaise, she would have been quite satisfied that he 
did it with the very best intentions. 

Besides becoming in a short time a perfect marvel in 
all stable matters, Kit soon made himself a very toler- 
able gardener, a handy fellow within doors, and an in- 
dispensable attendant on Mr. Abel, who every day gave 
him some new proof of his confidence and approbation. 
Mr. Witherden the notary, too, regarded him with a 
friendly eye ; and even Mr. Chuckster would sometimes 
condescend to give him a slight nod, or to honor him 
with that peculiar form of recognition which is called 
“ taking a sight,” or to favor him with some other salute 
combining pleasantry with patronage. 

One morning Kit drove Mr. Abel to the Notary’s 
office, as he sometimes did, and having set him down 
at the house, was about to drive off to a livery stable 
hard by, when this same Mr. Chuckster emerged from 
the office-door, and cried “ Woa-a-a-a-a-a ! ” — dwelling 
upon the note a long time, for the purpose of striking 
terror into the pony’s heart, and asserting the suprem- 
acy of man over the inferior animals. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


113 


“ Pull up, Snobby,” cried Mr. Chuckster, addressing 
himself to Kit. “You’re wanted inside here.” 

“ Has Mr. Abel forgotten anything, I wonder ? ” said 
Kit as he dismounted. 

“ Ask no questions, Snobby,” returned Mr. Chuck- 
Bter, “ but go and see. Woa-a-a then, will you ? If that 
pony was mine, I’d break him.” 

“ You must be very gentle with him, if you please,” 
Baid Kit, “ or you’ll find him troublesome. You’d bet- 
ter not keep on pulling his ears, please. I know he 
won’t like it.” 

To this remonstrance Mr. Chuckster deigned no other 
answer, than addressing Kit with a lofty and distant air 
as “ young feller,” and requesting him to cut, and come 
again with all speed. The “ young feller ” complying, 
Mr. Chuckster put his hands in his pockets, and tried 
to look as if he were not minding the pony, but hap- 
pened to be lounging there by accident. 

Kit scraped his shoes very carefully, (for he had not 
yet lost his reverence for the bundles of papers and 
the tin boxes,) and tapped at the office-door, which was 
quickly opened by the Notary himself. 

“ Oh ! come in, Christopher,” said Mr. Witherden. 

“ Is that the lad ? ” asked an elderly gentleman, but 
of a stout, bluff figure — who was in the room. 

“ That’s the lad,” said Mr. Witherden. “ He fell in 
with my client, Mr. Garland, sir, at this very door. I 
have reason to think he is a good lad, sir, and that you 
may believe what he says. Let me introduce Mr. Abel 
Garland, sir — his young master ; my articled pupil, 
sir, and most particular friend : — my most particular 
friend, sir,” repeated the Notary, drawing out his silk 
nandkerchief and flourishing it about his face. 

8 


VOL. II. 


114 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Yoar servant, sir,*’ said the stranger gentleman. 

“ Yours, sir, I’m sure,” replied Mr. Abel mildly. 
“You were wishing to speak to Christopher, sir?” 

“ Yes, I was. Have I your permission ? ” 

“ By all means.” 

“ My business is no secret ; or I should rather say 
it need be no secret here” said the stranger, observing 
that Mr. Abel and the Notary were preparing to retire. 
“ It relates to a dealer in curiosities with whom he 
lived, and in whom I am earnestly and warmly inter- 
ested. I have been a stranger to this country, gentle- 
men, for very many years, and if I am deficient in form 
and ceremony, I hope you will forgive me.” 

“No forgiveness is necessary, sir; — none whatever,” 
replied the Notary. And so said Mr. Abel. 

“ I have been making inquiries in the neighborhood 
in which his old master lived,” said the stranger, “ and 
I learn that he was served by this lad. I have found 
out his mother’s house, and have been directed by her 
to this place as the nearest in which I should be likely 
to find him. That’s the cause of my presenting my- 
self here this morning.” 

. “I am very glad of any cause, sir,” said the Notary, 
“ which procures me the honor of this visit.” 

“ Sir,” retorted the stranger, “ you speak like a mere 
man of the world, and I think you something better. 
Therefore, pray do not sink your real character in pay- 
ing unmeaning compliments to me.” 

“ Hem ! ” coughed the Notary. “ You’re a plain 
speaker, sir.” 

“ And a plain dealer,” returned the stranger. “ It 
may be my long absence and inexperience that lead me 
to the conclusion ; but if plain speakers are scarce in 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


115 


this part of the world, I fancy plain dealers are still 
scarcer. If my speaking should offend you, sir, my 
dealing, I hope, will make amends.” 

Mr. Witherden seemed a little disconcerted by the 
elderly gentleman’s mode of conducting the dialogue ; 
and as for Kit, he looked at him in open-mouthed as- 
tonishment : wondering what kind of language he would 
address to him, if he talked in that free and easy way 
to a Notary. It was with no harshness, however, though 
with something of constitutional irritability and haste, 
that he turned to Kit and said : 

“ If you think, my lad, that I am pursuing these in- 
quiries with any other view than that of serving and 
reclaiming those I am in search of, you do me a very 
great wrong, and deceive yourself. Don’t be deceived, 
I beg of you, but rely upon my assurance. The fact 
is, gentlemen,” he added, turning again to the Notary 
and his pupil, “ that I am in a very painful and wholly 
unexpected position. I came to this city with a darl- 
ing object at my heart, expecting to find no obstacle 
or difficulty in the way of its attainment. I find my- 
self suddenly checked and stopped short, in the execu- 
tion of my design, by a mystery which I cannot pene- 
trate. Every effort I have made to penetrate it, has 
only served to render it darker and more obscure; 
and I am afraid to stir openly in the matter, lest those 
whom I anxiously pursue, should fly still farther from 
me. I assure you that if you could give me any assist- 
ance, you would not be sorry to do so, if you knew 
how greatly I stand in need of it, and what a load it 
would relieve me from.” 

There was a simplicity in this confidence which oc- 
casioned it to fitf d a quick response in the breast of the 


116 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


good-natured Notary, who replied, in the same spirit, 
that the stranger had not mistaken his desire, and that 
if he could be of service to him, he would, most 
readily. 

Kit was then put under examination and closely 
questioned by the unknown gentleman touching his old 
master and the child, their lonely way of life, their re- 
tired habits, and strict seclusion. The nightly absence 
of the old man, the solitary existence of the child at 
those times, his illness and recovery, Quilp’s possession 
of the house, and their sudden disappearance, were all 
the subjects of much questioning and answer. Finally, 
Kit informed the gentleman that the premises were 
now to let, and that a board upon the door referred 
all inquirers to Mr. Sampson Brass, Solicitor, of Bevis 
Marks, from whom he might perhaps learn some further 
particulars. 

“Not by inquiry,” said the gentleman shaking his 
head. “ I live there.” 

“ Live at Brass’s the attorney’s ! ” cried Mr. Wither- 
den in some surprise : having professional knowledge 
of the gentleman in question. 

“ Ay,” was the reply. “ I entered on his lodgings 
t’ other day, chiefly because I had seen this very board. 
It matters little to me where I live, and I had a des- 
perate hope that some intelligence might be cast in my 
way there, which would not reach me elsewhere. Yes, 
l live at Brass’s — more shame for me, I suppose ? ” 

“ That’s a mere matter of opinion,” said the Notary, 
shrugging his shoulders. “ He is looked upon as rather 
a doubtful character.” 

“ Doubtful ? ” echoed the other. “ I am glad to hear 
there’s any doubt about it. I supposed that had been 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


117 


thoroughly settled, long ago. But will you let me speak 
a word or two with you in private ? ” 

Mr. Witherden consenting, they walked into that 
gentleman’s private closet, and remained there, in close 
conversation, for some quarter of an hour, when they 
returned into the outer office. The stranger had left 
his hat in Mr. Witherden’s room, and seemed to have 
established himself m this short interval on quite a 
friendly footing. 

"I’ll not detain you any longer now,” he said, put- 
ting a crown into Kit’s hand, and looking towards the 
Notary. “ You shall hear from me again. Not a 
word of this, you know, except to your master and 
mistress.” 

“ Mother, sir, would be glad to know ” — said Kit, 
faltering. 

“ Glad to know what ? ” 

“ Anything — so that it was no harm — about Miss 
Nell.” 

“ Would she ? Well then, you may tell her if she can 
keep a secret. But mind, not a word of this to anybody 
else. Don’t forget that. Be particular.” 

“ I’ll take care, sir,” said Kit. “ Thankee, sir, and 
good-morning.” 

Now, it happened that the gentleman, in his anxiety to 
impress upon Kit that he was not to tell anybody what 
had passed between them, followed him out to the door 
to repeat his caution, and it further happened that at that 
moment the eyes of Mr. Richard Swiveller were turned 
.n that direction, and beheld his mysterious friend and 
Kit together. 

It was quite an accident, and the way in which it came 
about was this. Mr. Chuckster, being a gentleman of a 


1.18 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


cultivated taste and refined spirit, was one of that Lodge 
of Glorious Apollos whereof Mr. Swiveller was Per- 
petual Grand. Mr. Swiveller passing through the street 
in the execution of some Brazen errand, and beholding 
one of his Glorious Brotherhood intently gazing on a 
pony, crossed over to give him that fraternal greeting 
with which Perpetual Grands are, by the very constitu- 
tion of their office, bound to cheer and encourage their 
disciples. He had scarcely bestowed upon him his bless- 
ing, and followed it with a general remark touching the 
present state and prospects of the weather, when, lifting 
up his ey^s, he beheld the single gentleman of Bevis 
Marks in earnest conversation with Christopher Nubbles. 

“ Hallo ! ” said Dick, “ who is that ? ” 

“ He called to see my Governor this morning,” replied 
Mr. Chuckster; “beyond that, I don’t know him from 
Adam.” 

“ At least you know his name ? ” said Dick. 

To which Mr. Chuckster replied with an elevation of 
speech becoming a Glorious Apollo, that he was “ ever- 
lastingly blessed ” if he did. 

“All I know, my dear feller,” said Mr. Chuckster, 
running his fingers through his hair, “ is, that he is the 
cause of my having stood here twenty minutes, for which 
I hate him with a mortal and undying hatred, and would 
pursue him to the confines of eternity if I could afford 
the time.” 

While they were thus discoursing, the subject of their 
conversation (who had not appeared to recognize Mr. 
Richard Swiveller) reentered the house, and Kit came 
down the steps and joined them ; to whom Mr. Swiveller 
again propounded his inquiry with no better success. 

“ He is a very nice gentleman, sir,” said Kit, “ and 
that’s all I know about him.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


119 


Mr. Chuckster waxed wroth at this answer, and with- 
out applying the remark to any particular ease, men- 
tioned, as a general truth, that it was expedient to break 
the heads of Snobs, and to tweak their noses. Without 
expressing his concurrence in this sentiment, Mr. Swiv- 
eller after a few moments of abstraction inquired which 
way Kit was driving, and, being informed, declared it 
was his way, and that he would trespass on him for a lift. 
Kit would gladly have declined the proffered honor, but 
as Mr. Swiveller was already established in the seat be- 
side him, he had no means of doing so, otherwise than 
by a forcible ejectment, and therefore drove briskly off 
— so briskly indeed, as to cut short the leave-taking be- 
tween Mr. Chuckster and his Grand Master, and to occa- 
sion the former gentleman some inconvenience from 
having his corns squeezed by the impatient pony. 

As Whisker was tired of standing, and Mr. Swiveller 
was kind enough to stimulate him by shrill whistles, and 
various sporting cries, they rattled off at too sharp a pace 
to admit of much conversation : especially as the pony, 
incensed by Mr. Swiveller’s admonitions, took a particu- 
lar fancy for the lamp-posts, and cart-wheels, and evinced 
a strong desire to run on the pavement and rasp himself 
against the brick walls. It was not, therefore, until they 
had arrived at the stable, and the chaise had been extri- 
cated from a very small door-way, into which the pony 
dragged it under the impression that he could take it 
along with him into his usual stall, that Mr. Swiveller 
found time to talk. 

“ It’s hard work,” said Richard. “ What do you say to 
some beer ? ” 

Kit at first declined, but presently consented, and they 
adjourned to the neighboring bar together. 


120 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ We’ll drink our friend what’s-liis-name,” said Dick, 
holding up the bright frothy pot ; “ — that was talking 
to you this morning, you know — I know him — a good 
fellow, but eccentric — very — here’s wliat’s-his-name.” 

Kit pledged him. 

“ He lives in my house,” said Dick ; “ at least in the 
house occupied by the firm in which I’m a sort of a — 
of a managing partner — a difficult fellow to get any- 
thing out of, but we like him — we like him.” 

“ I must be going, sir, if you please,” said Kit, moving 
away. 

“ Don’t be in a hurry, Christopher,” replied his patron, 
“ we’ll drink your mother.” 

“ Thank you, sir.” 

“An excellent woman that mother of yours, Christo- 
pher,” said Mr. Swiveller. “ Who ran to catch me when 
I fell, and kissed the place to make it well ? My mother. 
A charming woman. He’s a liberal sort of fellow. We 
must get him to do something for your mother. Does 
he know her, Christopher ? ” 

Kit shook his head, and glancing slyly at his question- 
er, thanked him, and made off before he could say an- 
other word. 

“ Humph ! ” said Mr. Swiveller, pondering, “ this is 
queer. Nothing but mysteries in connection with Brass’s 
house. I’ll keep my own counsel, however. Everybody 
and anybody has been in my confidence as yet, but now 
I think I’ll set up in business for myself. Queer — very 
queer ! ” 

After pondering deeply and with a face of exceeding 
wisdom for some time, Mr. Swiveller drank some more 
of the beer, and summoning a small boy who had been 
watching his proceedings, poured forth the few remain- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 121 

ing drops as a libation on the gravel, and bade him carry 
the empty vessel to the bar with his compliments, and 
above all things to lead a sober and temperate life, and 
abstain from all intoxicating and exciting liquors. Hav- 
ing given him this piece of moral advice for his trouble 
(which, as he wisely observed, was far better than half- 
pence) the Perpetual Grand Master of the Glorious 
Apollos thrust his hands into his pockets and sauntered 
awya : still pondering as he went. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

All that day, though he waited for Mr. Abel until 
evening, Kit kept clear of his mother’s house, determined 
not to anticipate the pleasures of the morrow, but to let 
them come in their full rush of delight ; for to-morrow 
was the great and long looked-for epoch in his life — to- 
morrow was the end of his first quarter — the day of 
receiving, for the first time, one fourth part of his an- 
nual income of Six Pounds in one vast sum of Thirty 
Shillings — to-morrow was to be a half-holiday devoted 
to a whirl of entertainments, and little Jacob was to 
know what oysters meant, and to see a play. 

All manner of incidents combined in favor of the oc- 
casion ; not only had Mr. and Mrs. Garland forewarned 
him that they intended to make no deduction for his out- 
fit from the great amount, but to pay it him unbroken in 
all its gigantic grandeur ; not only had the unknown gen- 
tleman increased the stock by the sum of five shillings, 
which was a perfect god-send and in itself a fortune ; 
not only had these things come to pass which nobody 
could have calculated upon, or in their wildest dreams 
have hoped ; but it was Barbara’s quarter too — Barba- 
ra’s quarter, that very day — and Barbara had a half- 
holiday as well as Kit, and Barbara’s mother was going 
to make one of the party, and to take tea with Kit’s 
mother, and cultivate her acquaintance. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


123 


To be sure Kit looked out of his window very early 
that morning to see which way the clouds were flying, 
and to be sure Barbara would have been at hers too, if 
she had not sat up so late overnight, starching and iron- 
ing small pieces of muslin, and crimping them into frills, 
and sewing them on to other pieces to form magnificent 
wholes for next day’s wear. But they were both up 
very early for all that, and had small appetites for 
breakfast and less for dinner, and were in a state of 
great excitement when Barbara’s mother came in, with 
astonishing accounts of the fineness of the weather out 
of doors (but with a very large umbrella notwithstand- 
ing, for people like Barbara’s mother seldom make holi- 
day without one), and when the bell rung for them to go 
up-stairs and receive their quarter’s money in gold and 
silver. 

Well, wasn’t Mr. Garland kind when he said “ Chris- 
topher, here’s your money, and you have earned it well 
and wasn’t Mrs. Garland kind when she said “ Barbara, 
here’s yours, and I’m much pleased with you ; ” and 
didn’t Kit sign his name bold to his receipt, and didn’t 
Barbara sign her name all a-trembling to hers ; and 
wasn’t it beautiful to see how Mrs. Garland poured out 
Barbara’s mother a glass of wine ; and didn’t Barbara’s 
mother speak up when she said “ Here’s blessing you, 
ma’am, as a good lady, and you, sir, as a good gentleman, 
and Barbara my love to you, and here’s towards you, 
Mr. Christopher ; ” and wasn’t she as long drinking it as 
if it had been a tumbler-full ; and didn’t she look genteel, 
standing there with her gloves on ; and wasn’t there 
plenty of laughing and talking among them as they re- 
viewed all these things upon the top of the coach ; and 
iidn’t they pity the people who hadn’t got a holiday ! 


124 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


But Kit’s mother, again — wouldn’t anybody have 
supposed she had come of a good stock and been a lady 
all her life ! There she was, quite ready to receive them, 
with a display of tea-things that might have warmed the 
heart of a china-shop ; and little Jacob and the baby in 
such a state of perfection that their clothes looked as 
good as new, though Heaven knows they were old 
enough ! Didn’t she say before they had sat down five 
minutes that Barbara’s mother was exactly the sort of 
lady she expected, and didn’t Barbara’s mother say that 
Kit’s mother was the very picture of what she had ex- 
pected, and didn’t Kit’s mother compliment Barbara’s 
mother on Barbara, and didn’t Barbara’s mother com- 
pliment Kit’s mother on Kit, and wasn’t Barbara herself 
quite fascinated with little Jacob, and did ever a child 
show off when he was wanted, as that child did, or make 
such friends as he made ! 

“ And we are both widows too ! ” said Barbara’s 
mother. “We must have been made to know each 
other.” 

“ I haven’t a doubt about it,” returned Mrs. Nubbles. 
“ And what a pity it is, we didn’t know each other 
sooner.” 

“ But then, you know, it’s such a pleasure,” said Bar- 
bara’s mother, “ to have it brought about by one’s son 
and daughter, that it’s fully made up for. Now, a’n’t 
it?” 

To this, Kit’s mother yielded her full assent, and trac- 
ing things back from effects to causes, they naturally 
reverted to their deceased husbands, respecting whose 
lives, deaths, and burials, they compared notes, and dis- 
covered sundry circumstances that tallied with wonder- 
ful exactness; such as Barbara’s father having been 


THE OLD CURIOSITT SHOP. 


125 


exactly four years and ten months older than Kit’s 
father, and one of them having died on a Wednesday 
and the other on a Thursday, and both of them having 
been of a very fine make and remarkably good-looking, 
with other extraordinary coincidences. These recollec- 
tions being of a kind calculated to cast a shadow on the 
brightness of the holiday, Kit diverted the conversation 
to general topics, and they were soon in great force 
again, and as merry as before. Among other things, Kit 
told them about his old place, and the extraordinary 
beauty of Kell (of whom he had talked to Barbara a 
thousand times already) ; but the last-named circum- 
stance failed to interest his hearers to anything like the 
extent he had supposed, and even his mother said (look- 
ing accidentally at Barbara at the same time) that there 
was no doubt Miss Nell was very pretty, but she was 
but a child after all, and there were many young women 
quite as pretty as she ; and Barbara mildly observed 
that she should think so, and that she never could help 
believing Mr. Christopher must be under a mistake — 
which Kit wondered at very much, not being able to 
conceive what reason she had for doubting him. Bar- 
bara’s mother too, observed that it was very common for 
young folks to change at about fourteen or fifteen, and 
whereas they had been very pretty before, to grow up 
quite plain ; which truth she illustrated by many forcible 
examples, especially one of a young man, who, being a 
builder with great prospects, had been particular in his 
attentions to Barbara, but whom Barbara would have 
nothing to say to ; which (though everything happened 
for the best) she almost thought was a pity. Kit said 
he thought so too, and so ho did honestly, and he won- 
dered what made Barbar? so silent all at once, and 


126 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


why his mother looked at him, as if he shouldn’t have 
6aid it. 

However, it was high time now to be thinking of the 
play ; for which, great preparation was required, in the 
way of shawls and bonnets, not to mention one handker- 
chief full of oranges and another of apples, which took 
some time tying up, in consequence of the fruit having a 
tendency to roll out at the corners. At length, every- 
thing was ready, and they went off very fast ; Kit’s 
mother carrying the baby, who was dreadfully wide 
awake, and Kit holding little Jacob in one hand, and 
escorting Barbara with the other — a state of things 
which occasioned the two mothers, who walked behind, 
to declare that they looked quite family folks, and caused 
Barbara to blush and say, “ Now don’t, mother ! ” But 
Kit said she had no call to mind what they said ; and 
indeed she need not have had, if she had known how 
very far from Kit’s thoughts any love-making was. 
Poor Barbara! 

At last they got to the theatre, which was Astley’s ; 
and in some two minutes after they had reached the yet 
unopened door, little Jacob was squeezed flat, and the 
baby had received divers concussions, and Barbara’s 
mother’s umbrella had been carried several yards off and 
passed back to her over the shoulders of the people, and 
Kit had hit a man on the head with the handkerchief of 
apples for “ scrowdging ” his parent with unnecessary 
violence, and there was a great uproar. But, when they 
were once past the pay-place and tearing away for very 
life with their checks in their hands, and, above all, when 
they were fairly in the theatre, and seated in such places 
that they couldn’t have had better if they had picked 
them out, and taken them beforehand, all this was looked 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


127 


upon as quite a capital joke, and an essential part of the 
entertainment. 

Dear, dear, what a place it looked, that Astley’s ! 
with all the paint, gilding, and looking-glass ; the vague 
smell of horses suggestive of coming wonders ; the cur- 
tain that hid such gorgeous mysteries ; the clean white 
sawdust down in the circus ; the company coming in and 
taking their places ; the fiddlers looking carelessly up at 
them while they tuned their instruments, as if they didn’t 
want the play to begin, and knew it all beforehand ! 
What a glow was that, which burst upon them all, when 
that long, clear, brilliant row of lights came slowly up ; 
and what the feverish excitement when the little bell 
rang and the music began in good earnest, with strong 
parts for the drums, and sweet effects for the triangles ! 
Well might Barbara’s mother say to Kit’s mother that 
the gallery was the place to see from, and wonder it 
wasn’t much dearer than the boxes ; well might Barbara 
feel doubtful whether to laugh or cry, in her flutter of 
delight. 

Then the play itself! the horses which little Jacob 
believed from the first to be alive, and the ladies and 
gentlemen of whose reality he could be by no means 
persuaded, having never seen or heard anything at all 
like them — the firing, which made Barbara wink - — the 
forlorn lady, who made her cry — the tyrant, who made 
her tremble — the man who sang the song with the 
lady’s-maid and danced the chorus, who made her laugh 
— the pony who reared up on his hind legs when he 
saw the murderer, and wouldn’t hear of walking on all 
fours again until he was taken into custody — the clown 
who ventured on such familiarities with the military man 
In boots — the lady who jumped over the nine-and- 


128 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


twenty ribbons and came down safe upon the horse’s 
back — everything was delightful, splendid, and surpris- 
ing ! Little Jacob applauded till his hands were sore ; 
Kit cried “ an-kor ” at the end of everything, the three- 
act piece included ; and Barbara’s mother beat her um- 
brella on the floor, in her ecstasies, until it was nearly 
worn down to the gingham. 

In the midst of all these fascinations, Barbara’s 
thoughts seemed to have been still running on what Kit 
had said at tea-time; for, when they were coming out of 
the play, she asked him, with an hysterical simper, if 
Miss Nell was as handsome as the lady who jumped over 
the ribbons. 

“ As handsome as her f ” said Kit. u Double as hand- 
some.” 

“ Oh Christopher ! I’m sure she was the beautifullest 
creature ever was,” said Barbara. 

“ Nonsense ! ” returned Kit. “ She was well enough, 
I don’t deny that ; but think how she was dressed and 
painted, and what a difference that made. Why you are 
a good deal better-looking than her, Barbara.” 

“ Oh Christopher ! ” said Barbara, looking down. 

“ You are, any day,” said Kit, — “ and so’s your 
mother.” 

Poor Barbara ! 

What was all this though — even all this — to the ex- 
traordinary dissipation that ensued, when Kit, walking 
into an oyster-shop as bold as if he lived there, and not 
so much as looking at the counter or the man behind it, 
led his party into a box — a private box, fitted up with 
red curtains, white table-cloth, and cruet-stand complete 
— and ordered a fierce gentleman with whiskers, who 
acted as waiter and called him, him Christopher Nubbles, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


129 


“sir,” to bring three dozen of bis largest-sized oysters, 
and to look sharp about it ! Yes, Kit told this gentle- 
man to look sharp, and he not only said he would look 
sharp, but he actually did, and presently came running 
back with the newest loaves, and the freshest butter, and 
the largest oysters, ever seen. Then said Kit to this 
gentleman, “ a pot of beer ” — just so — and the gentle- 
man, instead of replying, “ Sir, did you address that 
language to me ? ” only said, “ Pot o’ beer, sir ? yes, sir,” 
and went off and fetched it, and put it on the table in a 
small decanter-stand, like those which blind men’s dogs 
carry about the streets in their mouths, to catch tHe half- 
pence in ; and both Kit’s mother and Barbara’s mother 
declared as he turned away that he was one of the slim- 
mest and gracefullest young men she had ever looked 
upon. 

Then they fell to work upon the supper in earnest; 
and there was Barbara, that foolish Barbara, declaring 
that she couldn’t eat more than two, and wanting more 
pressing than you would believe before she would eat 
four : though her mother and Kit’s mother made up 
for it pretty well, and ate and laughed and enjoyed 
themselves so thoroughly that it did Kit good to see 
them, and made him laugh and eat likewise from strong 
sympathy. But the greatest miracle of the night was 
little Jacob, who ate oysters as if he had been bom 
and bred to the business — sprinkled the pepper and 
the vinegar with a discretion beyond his years — and 
afterwards built a grotto on the table with the shells 
There was the baby too, who had never closed an eye 
all night, but had sat as good as gold, trying to force 
a large orange into his mouth, and gazing intently at 
the lights in the chandelier — there he was, sitting up 

VOL. II 9 


130 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


in his mother’s lap, staring at the gas without winking, 
and making indentations in his soft visage with an 
oyster-shell, to that degree that a heart of iron must 
have loved him ! In short, there never was a more 
successful supper ; and when Kit ordered in a glass 
of something hot to finish with, and proposed Mr. and 
Mrs. Garland before sending it round, there were not 
six happier people in all the world. 

But all happiness has an end — hence the chief 
pleasure of its next beginning — and as it was now 
growing late, they agreed it was time to turn their 
faces Homewards. So, after going a little out of their 
way to see Barbara and Barbara’s mother safe to a 
friend’s house where they were to pass the night, Kit 
and his mother left them at the door, with an early 
appointment for returning to Finchley next morning, 
and a great many plans for next quarter’s enjoyment. 
Then, Kit took little Jacob on his back, and giving 
his arm to his mother, and a kiss to the baby, they 
all trudged merrily home together. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


131 


CHAPTER XL. 

Full of that vague kind of penitence which holidays 
awaken next morning, Kit turned out at sunrise, and, 
with his faith in last night’s enjoyments a little shaken 
by cool daylight and the return to every-day duties and 
occupations, went to meet Barbara and her mother at 
the appointed place. And being careful not to awaken 
any of the little household, who were yet resting from 
their unusual fatigues, Kit left his money on the 
chimney-piece, with an inscription in chalk calling his 
mother’s attention to the circumstance, and informing 
her that it came from her dutiful son ; and went his 
way, with his heart something heavier than his pockets 
but free from any very great oppression notwithstand- 
ing. 

Oh these holidays ! why will they leave us some 
regret ? why cannot we push them back, only a week 
or two in our memories, so as to put them at once at 
that convenient distance whence they may be regarded 
either with a calm indifference or a pleasant effort of 
recollection ! why will they hang about us, like the 
flavor of yesterday’s wine, suggestive of headaches and 
lassitude, and those good intentions for the future, which, 
under the earth, form the everlasting pavement of a 
large estate, and, upon it, usually endure until dinner- 
time or thereabouts ! 


132 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Who will wonder that Barbara had a headache, or 
that Barbara’s mother was disposed to be cross, or that 
she slightly underrated Astley’s, and thought the clown 
was older than they had taken him to be last night? 
Kit was not surprised to hear her say so — not he. 
He had already had a misgiving that the inconstant 
actors in that dazzling vision had been doing the same 
thing the night before last, and would do it again that 
night, and the next, and for weeks and months to come, 
though he would not be there. Such is the difference 
between yesterday and to-day. We are all going to the 
play, or coming home from it. 

However, the Sun himself is weak when he first 
rises, and gathers strength and courage as the day gets 
on. By degrees, they began to recall circumstances 
more and more pleasant in their nature, until, what 
between talking, walking, and laughing, they reached 
Finchley in such good heart, that Barbara’s mother 
declared she never felt less tired or in better spirits. 
And so said Kit. Barbara had been silent all the way, 
but she said so too. Poor little Barbara ! She was 
very quiet. 

They were at home in such good time that Eat had 
rubbed down the pony and made him as spruce as a 
race-horse, before Mr. Garland came down to break- 
fast ; which punctual and industrious conduct the old 
lady, and the old gentleman, and Mr. Abel, highly 
extolled. At his usual hour (or rather at his usual 
minute and second, for he was the soul of punctuality) 
Mr. Abel walked out, to be overtaken by the London 
coach, and Kit and the old gentleman went to work m 
the garden. 

This was not the least pleasant of Kit’s employments. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


133 


On a fine day they were quite a family party ; the old 
lady sitting hard by with her work-basket on a little 
table ; the old gentleman digging, or pruning, or clip- 
ping about with a large pair of shears, or helping Kit 
in some way or other with great assiduity ; and Whisker 
looking on from his paddock in placid contemplation of 
them all. To-day they were to trim the grape-vine, so 
Kit mounted half-way up a short ladder, and began to 
snip and hammer away, while the old gentleman, with 
a great interest in his proceedings, handed up the nails 
and shreds of cloth as he wanted them. The old lady 
and Whisker looked on as usual. 

“Well Christopher,” said Mr. Garland, “and so you 
have made a new friend, eh ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir ? ” returned Kit, looking 
down from the ladder. 

“You have made a new friend, I hear from Mr 
Abel,” said the old gentleman, “ at the office ! ” 

“ Oh — yes sir, yes. He behaved very handsome, 
sir.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” returned the old gentleman 
with a smile. “ He is disposed to behave more hand- 
somely still, though, Christopher.” 

“Indeed, sir! It’s very kind in him, but I don’t 
want him to, I’m sure,” said Kit, hammering stoutly 
at an obdurate nail. 

“ He is rather anxious,” pursued the old gentleman, 
“ to have you in his own service — take care what you’re 
doing, or you will fall down and hurt yourself.” 

“To have me in his service, sir ! ” cried Kit, who had 
stopped short in his work and faced about on the ladder 
like some dexterous tumbler. “ Why, sir, I don’t think 
he can be in earnest when he says that.” 


134 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


u Oh ! But he is indeed,” said Mr. Garland. “ And 
he has told Mr. Abel so.” 

“ I never heard of such a thing ! ” muttered Kit, look- 
ing ruefully at his master and mistress. “ I wonder at 
him ; that I do.” 

“ You see, Christopher,” said Mr. Garland, " this is a 
point of much importance to you, and you should under- 
stand and consider it in that light. This gentleman is 
able to give you more money than I — not, I hope, to 
carry through the various relations of master and ser- 
vant, more kindness and confidence, but certainly, Chris- 
topher, to give you more money.” 

“ Well,” said Kit, “ after that, sir ” — 

“ Wait a moment,” interposed Mr. Garland. “ That 
is not all. You were a very faithful servant to your old 
employers, as I understand, and should this gentleman 
recover them, as it is his purpose to attempt doing by 
every means in his power, I have no doubt that you, 
being in his service, would meet with your reward. Be- 
sides,” added the old gentleman with stronger emphasis, 
“ besides having the pleasure of being again brought into 
communication with those to whom you seem to be so 
very strongly and disinterestedly attached. You must 
think of all this, Christopher, and not be rash or hasty 
in your choice.” 

Kit did suffer one twinge, one momentary pang, in 
keeping the resolution he had already formed, when this 
last argument passed swiftly into his thoughts, and con- 
jured up the realization of all his hopes and fancies. 
But it was gone in a minute, and he sturdily rejoined 
that the gentleman must look out for somebody else, as 
he did think he might have done at first. 

“ He has no right to think that I’d be led away to go 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


135 


to him, sir,” said Kit, turning round again after half a 
minute’s hammering. “ Does he think I’m a fool ? ” 

“He may, perhaps, Christopher, if you refuse hia 
offer,” said Mr. Garland gravely. 

“ Then let him, sir,” retorted Kit ; “ what do I care, 
sir, what he thinks ? why should I care for his thinking, 
sir, when I know that I should be a fool, and worse than 
a fool, sir, to leave the kindest master and mistress that 
ever was or can be, who took me out of the streets a 
very poor and hungry lad indeed — poorer and hungrier 
perhaps than ever you think for, sir — to go to him or 
anybody? If Miss Nell was to come back, ma’am,” 
added Kit, turning suddenly to his mistress, “ why that 
would be another thing, and perhaps if she wanted me, 
I might ask you now and then to let me work for her 
when all was done at home. But when she comes back, 
I see now that she’ll be rich as old master always said 
she would, and being a rich young lady, what could she 
want of me ! No, no,” added Kit, shaking his head sor- 
rowfully, “ she’ll never want me any more, and bless her, 
I hope she never may, though I should like to see her 
too ! ” 

Here Kit drove a nail into the wall, very hard — much 
harder than was necessary ; — and having done so, faced 
about again. 

“ There’s the pony, sir,” said Kit — “ Whisker, ma’am 
(and he knows so well I’m talking about him that he be- 
gins to neigh directly, sir), — would he let anybody come 
near him but me, ma’am ? Here’s the garden, sir, and 
Mr. Abel, ma’am. Would Mr. Abel part with me, sir, 
or is there anybody that could be fonder of the garden, 
ma’am ? It would break mother’s heart, sir, and even 
little Jacob would have sense enough tc cry his eyes out, 


136 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ma’am, if he thought that Mr. Abel could wish to part 
with me so soon, after having told me, only the other 
day, that he hoped we might be together for years to 
come ” — 

There is no telling how long Kit might have stood 
upon the ladder, addressing his master and mistress by 
turns, and generally turning towards the wrong person, 
if Barbara had not at that moment come running up to 
say that a messenger from the office had brought a note, 
which, w r ith an expression of some surprise at Kit’s ora- 
torical appearance, she put into her master’s hand. 

“ Oh ! ” said the old gentleman after reading it, “ ask 
the messenger to walk this way.” Barbara tripping off 
to do as she was bid, he turned to Kit and said that they 
would not pursue the subject any further, and that Kit 
could not be more unwilling to part with them, than they 
would be to part with Kit ; a sentiment which the old 
lady very generously echoed. 

“ At the same time, Christopher,” added Mr. Garland, 
glancing at the note in his hand, “if the gentleman 
should want to borrow you now and then for an hour or 
so, or even a day or so, at a time, we must consent to 
lend you, and you must consent to be lent. — Oh ! here 
is the young gentleman. How do you do, sir ? ” 

This salutation was addressed to Mr. Chuckster, who, 
with his hat extremely on one side, and his hair a long 
way beyond it, came swaggering up the walk. 

“Hope I see you well, sir,” returned that gentleman. 
“ Hope I see. you well, ma’am. Charming box this, sir. 
Delicious country to be sure.” 

“ You want to take Kit back with you, I find ? ” ob- 
served Mr. Garland. 

“ I’ve got a chariot-cab waiting on purpose,” replied 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


137 


the clerk. “A very spanking gray in that cab, sir, if 
you’re a judge of horse-flesh.” 

Declining to inspect the spanking gray, on the plea 
that he was but poorly acquainted with such matters, and 
would but imperfectly appreciate his beauties, Mr. Gar- 
land invited Mr. Chuckster to partake of a slight repast 
in the way of lunch. That gentleman readily consent- 
ing, certain cold viands, flanked with ale and wine, were 
speedily prepared for his refreshment. At this repast, 
Mr. Chuckster exerted his utmost abilities to enchant his 
entertainers, and impress them with a conviction of the 
mental superiority of those who dwelt in town ; with 
which view he led the discourse to the small scandal of 
the day, in which he was justly considered by his friends 
to shine prodigiously. Thus, he was in a condition to 
relate the exact circumstances of the difference between 
the Marquis of Mizzler and Lord Bobby, which it ap- 
peared originated in a disputed bottle of champagne, and 
not in a pigeon-pie, as erroneously reported in the news- 
papers ; neither had Lord Bobby said to the Marquis of 
Mizzler, “ Mizzler, one of us two tells a lie, and I’m not 
the man,” as incorrectly stated by the same authorities ; 
but, “ Mizzler, you know where I’m to be found, and, 
damme, sir, find me if you want me” — which, of course, 
entirely changed the aspect of this interesting question, 
and placed it in a very different light. He also ac- 
quainted them with the precise amount of the income 
guaranteed by the Duke of Thigsberry to Violetta Stet- 
ta of the Italian Opera, which it appeared was payable 
quarterly, and not half-yearly, as the public had been 
given to understand, and which was exclusive, and not 
•wclusive, (as had been monstrously stated,) of jewelry, 
perfumery, hair-powder for five footmen, and two daily 


138 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


changes of kid gloves for a page. Having entreated the 
old lady and gentleman to set their minds at rest on these 
absorbing points, for they might rely on his statement 
being the correct one, Mr. Chuckster entertained them 
with theatrical chit-chat and the court circular ; and so 
wound up a brilliant and fascinating conversation which 
he had maintained alone, and without any assistance 
whatever, for upwards of three quarters of an hour. 

“ And now that the nag has got his wind again,” said 
Mr. Clncekster, rising in a graceful manner, “ I’m afraid 
I must cut my stick.” 

Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Garland offered any opposition 
to his tearing himself away, (feeling, no doubt, that such 
a man could ill be spared from his proper sphere of 
action,) and therefore Mr. Chuckster and Kit were short- 
ly afterwards upon their way to town ; Kit being perched 
upon the box of the cabriolet beside the driver, and Mr. 
Chuckster seated in solitary state inside, with one of his 
boots sticking out at each of the front windows. 

When they reached the Notary’s house, Kit followed 
into the office, and was desired by Mr. Abel to sit down 
and wait, for the gentleman who wanted him had gone 
out, and perhaps might not return for some time. This 
anticipation was strictly verified, for Kit had had his 
dinner, and his tea, and had read all the lighter matter 
in the Law-List, and the Post-Office Directory, and had 
fallen asleep a great many times, before the gentleman 
whom hs had seen before, came in ; which he did at last 
in a very great hurry. 

He was closeted with Mr. Witherden for some little 
time, and Mr. Abel had been called in to assist at the 
conference, before Kit, wondering very much what he 
was wanted for, was summoned to attend them. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


139 


“ Christopher,” said the gentleman, turning to him di- 
rectly he entered the room, “ I have found your old mas- 
ter and young mistress.” 

“ No, sir ! Have you, though ? ” returned Kit, his 
eyes sparkling with delight. " Where are they, sir ? 
How are they, sir ? Are they — are they near here ? ” 

“A long way from here,” returned the gentleman 
shaking his head. “ But I am going away to-night U 
bring them back, and I want you to go with me.” 

“ Me, sir ? ” cried Kit, full of joy and surprise. 

“ The place,” said the strange gentleman, turning 
thoughtfully to the Notary, “indicated by this man of 
the dogs, is — how far from here — sixty miles ? ” 

“ From sixty to seventy.” 

“ Humph ! If we travel post all night, we shall reach 
there in good time to-morrow morning. Now, the only 
question is, as they will not know me, and the child, God 
bless her, would think that any stranger pursuing them 
had a design upon her grandfather’s liberty, — can I do 
better than take this lad, whom they both know and will 
readily remember, as an assurance to them of my friend- 
ly intentions ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied the Notary. “ Take Christo- 
pher by all means.” 

“ I beg your pardon, sir,” said Kit, who had listened 
to this discourse with a lengthening countenance, “ but 
if that’s the reason, I’m afraid I should do more harm 
than good — Miss Nell, sir, she knows me, and would 
trust in me, I am sure ; but old master — I don’t know 
why, gentlemen ; nobody does — would not bear me in 
his sight after he had been ill, and Miss Nell herself told 
me that I must not go near him or let him see me any 
more. I should spoil all that you were doing if I went, 


140 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


I’m afraid. I’d give the world to go, but you had bet- 
ter not take me, sir.” 

“ Another difficulty ! ” cried the impetuous gentleman. 
“ Was ever man so beset as I ? Is there nobody else 
that knew them, nobody else in whom they had any con- 
fidence ? Solitary as their lives were, is there no one 
person who would serve my purpose ? ” 

“ Is there Christopher ? ” said the Notary. 

“ Not one, sir,” replied Kit. “ Yes, though — there’s 
my mother.” 

“ Did they know her ? ” said the single gentleman. 

“ Know her, sir ! why, she was always coming back- 
wards and forwards. They were as kind to her as they 
were to me. Bless you, sir, she expected they’d come 
back to her house.” 

“ Then where the devil is the woman ? ” said the im- 
patient gentleman, catching up his hat. “ Why isn’t she 
here ? Why is that woman always out of the way when 
she is most wanted ? ” 

In a word, the single gentleman was bursting out of 
the office, bent upon laying violent hands on Kit’s 
mother, forcing her into a post-chaise, and carrying her 
off, when this novel kind of abduction was with some dif- 
ficulty prevented by the joint efforts of Mr. Abel and the 
Notary, who restrained him by dint of their remonstran- 
ces, and persuaded him to sound Kit upon the proba- 
bility of her being able and willing to undertake such a 
journey on so short a notice. 

This occasioned some doubts on the part of Kit, and 
gome violent demonstrations on that of the single gentle- 
man, and a great many soothing speeches on that of the 
Notary and Mr. Abel. The upshot of the business was, 
that Kit, after weighing the matter in his mind and con- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


141 


sidering it carefully, promised on behalf of his mother, 
that she should be ready within two hours from that 
time to undertake the expedition, and engaged to pro- 
duce her in that place, in all respects equipped and pre- 
pared for the journey, before the specified period had ex 
pired. 

Having given this pledge, which was rather a bold 
one, and not particularly easy of redemption, Kit lost no 
time in sallying forth and taking measures for its imme- 
diate fulfilment 


142 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XLI. 

Kit made his way through the crowded streets, divid- 
ing the stream of people, dashing across the busy road- 
ways, diving into lanes and alleys, and stopping or turn- 
ing aside for nothing, until he came in front of the Old 
Curiosity Shop, when he came to a stand ; partly from 
habit and partly from being out of breath. 

It was a gloomy autumn evening, and he thought the 
old place had never looked so dismal as in its dreary 
twilight. The windows broken, the rusty sashes rattling 
in their frames, the deserted house a dull barrier dividing 
the glaring lights and bustle of the street into two long 
lines, and standing in the midst, cold, dark, and empty, — 
presented a cheerless spectacle which mingled harshly 
with the bright prospects the boy had been building up 
for its late inmates, and came like a disappointment or 
misfortune. Eat would have had a good fire roaring up 
the empty chimneys, lights sparkling and shining through 
the windows, people moving briskly to and fro, voices in 
cheerful conversation, something in unison with the new 
hopes that were astir. He had not expected that the 
house would wear any different aspect — had known in- 
d< ed that it could not — but coming upon it in the midst 
of eager thoughts and expectations, it checked the cur- 
re.it in its flow, and darkened it with a mournful shadow. 

Kit, however, fortunately for himself, was not learned 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


143 


enough or contemplative enough to be troubled with 
presages of evil afar off, and, having no mental spectacles 
to assist his vision in this respect, saw nothing but the 
dull house, which jarred uncomfortably upon his previous 
thoughts. So, almost wishing that he had not passed it, 
though hardly knowing why, he hurried on again, mak- 
ing up by his increased speed for the few moments he 
had lost. 

“ Now, if she should be out,” thought Kit, as he ap- 
proached the poor dwelling of his mother, u and I not 
able to find her, this impatient gentleman would be in a 
pretty taking. And sure enough there’s no light and the 
door’s fast. Now, God forgive me for saying so, but if 
this is Little Bethel’s doing, I wish Little Bethel was 
— was farther off,” said Kit checking himself, and knock- 
ing at the door. 

A second knock brought no reply from within the 
house ; but caused a woman over the way to look out 
and inquire who that was, a-wanting Mrs. Nubbles. 

“ Me,” said Kit. “ She’s at — at Little Bethel, I sup- 
pose ? ” — getting out the name of the obnoxious con- 
venticle with some reluctance, and laying a spiteful em- 
phasis upon the words. 

The neighbor nodded assent. 

“ Then pray tell me where it is,” said Kit, “ for I have 
come on a pressing matter, and must fetch her out, even 
if she was in the pulpit.” 

It was not very easy to procure a direction to the fold 
in question, as none of the neighbors were of the flock 
that resorted thither, and few knew anything more cf it 
than the name. At last, a gossip of Mrs. Nubbles’s, who 
had accompanied her to chapel on one or two occasions 
when a comfortable cup of tea had preceded her devo- 


144 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


tions, furnished the needful information, which Kit had 
no sooner obtained than he started off again. 

Little Bethel might have been nearer, and might have 
been in a straighten road, though in that case the rev- 
erend gentleman who presided over its congregation 
would have lost his favorite allusion to the crooked ways 
by which it was approached, and which enabled him to 
liken it to Paradise itself, in contradistinction to the 
parish church and the broad thoroughfare leading there- 
unto. Eat found it, at last, after some trouble, and paus- 
ing at the door to take breath that he might enter with 
becoming decency, passed into the chapel. 

It was not badly named in one respect, being in truth 
a particularly little Bethel — a Bethel of the smallest 
dimensions — with a small number of small pews, and a 
small pulpit, in which a small gentleman (by trade a 
Shoemaker, and by calling a Divine) was delivering in 
a by no means small voice, a by no means small sermon, 
judging of its dimensions by the condition of his au- 
dience, which, if their gross amount were but small, com- 
prised a still smaller number of hearers, as the majority 
were slumbering. 

Among these was Kit’s mother, who, finding it mat- 
ter of extreme difficulty to keep her eyes open after 
the fatigues of last night, and feeling their inclination 
tc close strongly backed and seconded by the argu- 
ments of the preacher, had yielded to the drowsiness 
that overpowered her, and fallen asleep ; though not so 
soundly but that she could, from time to time, utter a 
slight and almost inaudible groan, as if in recognition 
of the orator’s doctrines. The baby in her arms was 
as fast asleep as she ; and little Jacob, whose youth 
prevented him from recognizing in this prolonged spir 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


145 


itual nourishment anything half as interesting as oysters, 
was alternately very fast asleep and very wide awake, 
as his inclination to slumber, or his terror of being 
personally alluded to in the discourse, gained the mas- 
tery over him. 

“And now I’m here,” thought Kit, gliding into the 
nearest empty pew which was opposite his mother’s, 
and on the other side of the little aisle, “ how am I 
ever to get at her, or persuade her to come out ! I 
might as well be twenty miles off. She’ll never wake 
till it’s all over, and there goes the clock again ! If 
he would but leave off for a minute, or if they’d only 
sing ! ” 

But there was little encouragement to believe that 
either event would happen for a couple of hours to 
come. The preacher went on telling them what he 
meant to convince them of before he had done, and 
it was clear that if he only kept to one half of his 
promises and forgot the other, he was good for that 
time at least. 

In his desperation and restlessness Kit cast his eyes 
about the chapel, and happening to let them fall upon 
a little seat in front of the clerk’s desk, could scarcely 
believe them when they showed him — Quilp ! 

He rubbed them twice or thrice, but still they in- 
sisted that Quilp was there, and there indeed he was, 
sitting with his hands upon his knees, and his hat be 
tween them, on a little wooden bracket, with the ac- 
customed grin on his dirty face, and his eyes fixed 
upon the ceiling. He certainly did not glance at Kit 
or at his mother, and appeared utterly unconscious of 
their presence ; still Kit could not help feeling, directly, 
10 


VOL. II. 


146 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


that tlie attention of the sly little fiend was fastened 
tipon them, and upon nothing else. 

But, astounded as he was by the apparition of the 
dwarf among the Little Bethelites, and not free from 
a misgiving that it was the forerunner of some trouble 
or annoyance, he was compelled to subdue his wonder 
and to take active measures for the withdrawal of his 
parent, as the evening was now creeping on, and the 
matter grew serious. Therefore, the next time little 
Jacob woke, Kit set himself to attract his wandering 
attention, and this not being a very difficult task (one 
sneeze effected it), he signed to him to rouse his 
mother. 

Ill-luck would have it, however, that, just then, the 
preacher, in a forcible exposition of one head of 
his discourse, leaned over upon the pulpit-desk, so that 
very little more of him than his legs remained in- 
side : and, while he made vehement gestures with 
his right hand, and held on with his left, stared, or 
seemed to stare, straight into little Jacob’s eyes, threat- 
ening him by his strained look and attitude — so it 
appeared to the child — that if he so much as moved 
a muscle, he, the preacher, would be literally, and not 
figuratively, “ down upon him ” that instant. In this 
fearful state of things, distracted by the sudden ap- 
pearance of Kit, and fascinated by the eyes of the 
preacher, the miserable Jacob sat bolt upright, wholly 
incapable of motion, strongly disposed to cry but afraid 
to do so, and returning his pastor’s gaze until his in- 
fant eyes seemed starting from their sockets. 

“If I must do it openly, I must,” thought Kit. 
With that, he walked softly out of his pew and into 
his mother’s, and as Mr. Swiveller would have ob- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


147 


served if he had been present, “ collared ” the baby 
without speaking a word. 

“ Hush, mother ! ” whispered Kit. “ Come along 
with me, I’ve got something to tell you.” 

“ Where am I ? ” said Mrs. Nubbles. 

“ In this blessed Little Bethel,” returned her son, 
peevishly. 

“ Blessed indeed ! ” cried Mrs. Nubbles, catching at 
the word. “ Oh, Christopher, how have I been edified 
this night ! ” 

u Yes, yes, I know,” said Kit hastily ; “ but come 
along, mother, everybody’s looking at us. Don’t make 
a noise — bring Jacob — that’s right ! ” 

“ Stay, Satan, stay ! ” cried the preacher, as Kit was 
moving off. 

“ The gentleman says you’re to stay, Christopher,” 
whispered his mother. 

“ Stay, Satan, stay ! ” roared the preacher again. 
“ Tempt not the woman that doth incline her ear to 
thee, but hearken to the voice of him that calleth. 
He hath a lamb from the fold ! ” cried the preacher, 
raising his voice still higher and pointing to the baby. 
“ He beareth off a lamb, a precious lamb ! He goeth 
about, like a wolf in the night season, and inveigleth 
the tender lambs ! ” 

Kit w r as the best-tempered fellow in the world, but 
considering this strong language, and being somewhat 
excited by the circumstances in which he was placed, 
he faced round to the pulpit with the baby in his arms, 
and replied aloud, 

“No, I don’t. He’s my brother.” 

“ He’s my brother ! ” cried the preacher. 

“ He isn’t,” said Kit indignantly. 


148 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ How can you say such a thing ? — and don’t call 
me names if you please ; what harm have I done ? I 
shouldn’t have come to take ’em away, unless I was 
obliged, you may depend upon that. I wanted to do 
it very quiet, but you wouldn’t let me. Now, you 
have the goodness to abuse Satan and them, as much 
as you like, sir, and to let me alone if you please. ’ 

So saying, Kit marched out of the chapel, followed 
by his mother and little Jacob, and found himself in 
the open air, with an indistinct recollection of having 
seen the people wake up and look surprised, and of 
Quilp having remained, throughout the interruption, in 
his old attitude, without moving his eyes from the ceil- 
ing, or appearing to take the smallest notice of any- 
thing that passed. 

“ Oh Kit ! ” said his mother, with her handkerchief 
to her eyes, “ what have you done ! I never can go 
there again — never ! ” 

u I’m glad of it, mother. What was there in the 
little bit of pleasure you took last night that made it 
necessary for you to be low-spirited and sorrowful to- 
night? That’s the way you do. If you’re happy or 
merry ever, you come here to say, along with that 
chap, that you’re sorry for it. More shame for you, 
mother, I was going to say.” 

“ Hush, dear ! ” said Mrs. Nubbles ; “ you don’t mean 
what you say, I know, but you’re talking sinfulness.” 

“ Don’t mean it ? But I do mean it ! ” retorted Kit, 
M I don’t believe, mother, that harmless cheerfulness and 
good-humor are thought greater sins in heaven than 
shirt-collars are, and I do believe that those chaps are 
just about as right and sensible in putting down the 
one as in leaving off the other — that’s my belief. Bui 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


149 


I won’t say anything more about it, if you’ll promise 
not to cry, that’s all ; and you take the baby that’s a 
lighter weight, and give me little Jacob ; and as we 
go along (which we must do pretty quick) I’ll tell you 
the news I bring, which will surprise you a little, I 
can tell you. There — that’s right. Now you look as 
if you’d never seen Little Bethel in all your life, as I 
hope you ne<yer will again ; and here’s the baby ; and 
little Jacob, you get atop of my back and catch hold 
of me tight round the neck, and whenever a Little 
Bethel parson calls you a precious lamb or says your 
brother’s one, you tell him it’s the truest thing he’s 
said for a twelvemonth, and that if he’d got a little 
more of the lamb himself, and less of the mint-sauce 
— not being quite so sharp and sour over it — I should 
like him all the better. That’s what you’ve got to say 
to him, Jacob ! ” 

Talking on in this way, half in jest and half in 
earnest, and cheering up his mother, the children, and 
himself, by the one simple process of determining to be 
in a good humor, Kit led them briskly forward ; and 
on the road home, he related what had passed at the 
Notary’s house, and the purpose with which he had 
intruded on the solemnities of Little Bethel. 

His mother was not a little startled on learning what 
service was required of her, and presently fell into a 
confusion of ideas, of which the most prominent were 
that it was a great honor and dignity to ride in a 
post-ohaise, and that it was a moral impossibility to 
leave the children behind. But this objection, and a 
great many others, founded on certain articles of dress 
being at the wash, and certain other articles having no 
existence in the wardrobe of Mrs. Nubbles, were over- 


1 50 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


come by Kit, who opposed to each and every of them, 
the pleasure of recovering Nell, and the delight it would 
be to bring her back in triumph. 

“ There’s only ten minutes now, mother ” — said Kit 
when they reached home. “ There’s a bandbox. Throw 
in what you want, and we’ll be off directly.” 

To tell how Kit then hustled into the box all sorts 
of things which could, by no remote contingency, be 
wanted, and how he left out everything likely to be 
of the smallest use ; how a neighbor was persuaded 
to come and stop with the children, and how r the chil- 
dren at first cried dismally, and then laughed heartily 
on being promised all kinds of impossible and unheard- 
of toys ; how Kit’s mother wouldn’t leave off kissing 
them, and how Kit couldn’t make up his mind to be 
vexed with her for doing it; would take more time 
and room than you and I can spare. So, passing over 
all such matters, it is sufficient to say that within a 
few minutes after the two hours had expired, Kit and 
his mother arrived at the Notary’s door, where a post- 
chaise was already waiting. 

“ With four horses I declare ! ” said Kit, quite aghast 
at the preparations. “Well, you are going to do it, 
mother ! Here she is, sir. Here’s my mother. She’s 
quite ready, sir.” 

“ That’s well,” returned the gentleman. “ Now, don’t 
be in a flutter ma’am; you’ll be taken great care of. 
Where’s the box with the new clothing and necessaries 
for them ? ” 

“ Here it is,” said the Notary. “ In with it, Christo- 
pher.” 

“ All right sir,” replied Kit. “ Quite ready now, sir.” 

“ Then come along,” said the single gentleman. And 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


151 


thereupon he gave his arm to Kit’s mother, handed her 
into the carriage as politely as you please, and took his 
seat beside her. 

Up went the steps, bang went the door, round whirled 
the wheels, and off they rattled, with Kit’s mother hang 
ing out at one window waving a damp pocket-handker- 
chief and screaming out a great many messages to little 
Jacob and the baby, of which nobody heard a word. 

Kit stood in the middle of the road, and looked after 
them with tears in his eyes — not brought there by the 
departure he witnessed, but by the return to which he 
looked forward. “ They went away,” he thought, “ on 
foot with nobody to speak to them or say a kind word at 
parting, and they’ll come back, drawn by four horses, 
with this rich gentleman for their friend, and all their 
troubles over ! She’ll forget that she taught me to 
write — ” 

Whatever Kit thought about after this, took some time 
to think of, for he stood gazing up the lines of shining 
lamps, long after the chaise had disappeared, and did not 
return into the house until the Notary and Mr. Abel, - 
who had themselves lingered outside till the sound of the 
wheels was no longer distinguishable, had several times 
wondered what could possibly detain him. 


152 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XLII. 

It behooves us to leave Kit for a while, thoughtful and 
expectant, and to follow the fortunes of little Nell ; re- 
suming the thread of the narrative at the point where it 
was left, some chapters back. 

In one of those wanderings in the evening-time, when, 
following the two sisters at a humble distance, she felt, in 
her sympathy with them and her recognition in their 
trials of something akin to her own loneliness of spirit, 
a comfort and consolation which made such moments a 
time of deep delight, though the softened pleasure they 
yielded was of that kind which lives and dies in tears — 
in one of those wanderings at the quiet hour of twilight, 
when sky, and earth, and air, and rippling water, and 
sound of distant bells, claimed kindred with the emotions 
of the solitary child, and inspired her with soothing 
thoughts, but not of a child’s world or its easy joys — * in 
one of those rambles which had now become her only 
pleasure or relief from care, light had faded into dark* 
ness and evening deepened into, night, and still the young 
creature lingered in the gloom ; feeling a companionship 
in Nature so serene and still, when noise of tongues and 
glare of garish lights would have been solitude indeed. 

The sisters had gone home, and she was alone. She 
raised her eyes to the bright stars, looking down so 
mildly from the wide worlds of air, and, gazing on them 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


153 


found new stars burst upon her view, and more beyond, 
and more beyond again, until the whole great expanse 
sparkled with shining spheres, rising higher and higher 
in immeasurable space, eternal in their numbers as in 
their changeless and incorruptible existence. She bent 
over the calm river, and saw them shining in the same 
majestic order as when the dove beheld them gleaming 
through the swollen waters, upon the mountain- tops down 
far below, and dead mankind, a million fathoms deep. 

The child sat silently beneath a tree, hushed in her 
very breath by the stillness of the night, and all its at- 
tendant wonders. The time and place awoke reflection, 
and she thought with a quiet hope — less hope, perhaps, 
than resignation — on the past, and present, and what 
was yet before her. Between the old man and herself 
there had come a gradual separation, harder to bear than 
any former sorrow. Every evening, and often in the 
day-time too, he was absent, alone ; and although she 
well knew where he went, and why — too well from the 
constant drain upon her scanty purse and from his hag- 
gard looks — he evaded all inquiry, maintained a strict 
reserve, and even shunned her presence. 

She sat meditating sorrowfully upon this change, and 
mingling it, as it were, with everything about her, when 
the distant church-clock bell struck nine. Rising at the 
sound, she retraced her steps, and turned thoughtfully 
towards the town. 

She had gained a little wooden bridge, which, thrown 
across the stream, led into a meadow in her way, when 
she came suddenly upon a ruddy light, and looking for- 
ward more attentively, discerned that it proceeded from 
what appeared to be an encampment of gypsies, who had 
made a fire in one corner at no great distance from the 


154 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


path, and were sitting or lying round it. As she was too 
poor to have any fear of them, she did not alter her 
course, (which, indeed, she could not have done without 
going a long way round,) but quickened her pace a little, 
and kept straight on. 

A movement of timid curiosity impelled her, when she 
approached the spot, to glance towards the fire. There 
was a form between it and her, the outline strongly de- 
veloped against the light, which caused her to stop ab- 
ruptly. Then, as if she had reasoned with herself and 
were assured that it could not be, or had satisfied herself 
that it was not, that of the person she had supposed, she 
went on again. 

But at that instant the conversation, whatever it was, 
which had been carrying on near this fire was resumed, 
and the tones of the voice that spoke — she could not 
distinguish words — sounded as familiar to her as her 
own. 

She turned, and looked back. The person had been 
seated before, but was now in a standing posture, and 
leaning forward on a stick on which he rested both hands. 
The attitude was no less familiar to her than the tone 
of voice had been. It was her grandfather. 

Her first impulse was to call to him ; her next to won- 
der who his associates could be, and for what purpose 
they were together. Some vague apprehension suc- 
ceeded, and, yielding to the strong inclination it awa- 
kened, she drew nearer to the place ; not advancing 
across the open field, however, but creeping towards it 
by the hedge. 

In this way she advanced within a few feet of the fire, 
and standing among a few young trees, could both see 
and hear, without much danger of being observed. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


155 


There were no women or children, as she had seen in 
other gypsy camps they had passed in their wayfaring, 
and but one gypsy — a tall athletic man, who stood with 
his arms folded, leaning against a tree at a little distance 
off, looking now at the fire, and now, under his black 
eyelashes, at three other men who were there, with a 
watchful but half-concealed interest in their conversation 
Of these, her grandfather was one ; the others she recog* 
nized as the first card-players at the public-house on the 
eventful night of the storm — the man whom they had 
called Isaac List, and his gruff companion. One of the 
low, arched gypsy-tents, common to that people, was 
pitched hard by, but it either was, or appeared to be, 
empty. 

“ Well, are you going ? ” said the stout man, looking 
up from the ground where he was lying at his ease, into 
her grandfather’s face. u You were in a mighty hurry 
a minute ago. Go, if you like. You’re your own mas- 
ter, I hope ? ” 

“ Don’t vex him,” returned Isaac List, who was squat- 
ting like a frog on the other side of the fire, and had so 
screwed himself up that he seemed to be squinting all 
over ; “ he didn’t mean any offence.” 

“You keep me poor, and plunder me, and make a 
sport and jest of me besides,” said the old man, turning 
from one to the other. “ Ye’ll drive me mad among 
ye.” 

The utter irresolution and feebleness of the gray- 
haired child, contrasted with the keen and cunning 
? ooks of those in whose hands he was, smote upon the 
little listener’s heart. But she constrained herself to 
attend to all that passed, and to note each look and 
word. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


156 


“ Confound you, what do you mean ? ” said the stout 
man, rising a little, and supporting himself on his elbow. 
“ Keep you poor ! You’d keep us poor, if you could, 
wouldn’t you ? That’s the way with you whining, puny, 
pitiful players. When you lose, you’re martyrs ; but I 
don’t find that when you win, you look upon the other 
losers in that light. As to plunder ! ” cried the fellow, 
raising his voice — u Damme, what do you mean by such 
ungentlemanly language as plunder, eh ? ” 

The speaker laid himself down again at full length, 
and gave one or two short, angry kicks, as if in further 
expression of his unbounded indignation. It was quite 
plain that he acted the bully, and his friend the peace- 
maker, for some particular purpose ; or rather, it would 
have been to any one but the weak old man ; for they 
exchanged glances quite openly, both with each other and 
with the gypsy, who grinned his approval of the jest un- 
til his white teeth shone again. 

The old man stood helplessly among them for a little 
time, and then said, turning to his assailant : 

“ You yourself were speaking of plunder, just now, 
you know. Don’t be so violent with me. You were, 
were you not ? ” 

“ Not of plundering among present company ! Honor 
among — among gentlemen, sir,” returned the other, who 
seemed to have been very near giving an awkward ter- 
mination to the sentence. 

“ Don’t be hard upon him, Jowl,” said Isaac List 
li He’s very sorry for giving offence. There, — go on 
with what you were saying — go on.” 

“ I’m a jolly old tender-hearted lamb, I am,” cried Mr, 
Jowl, “ to be sitting here at my time of life giving advice, 
when I know it won’t be taken, and that I shall get no*H- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


157 


ing but abuse for my pains. But that’s the way I’ve 
gone through life. Experience has never put a chill 
upon my warm-heartedness.” 

“ I tell you he’s very sorry, don’t I ? ” remonstrated 
Isaac List, “ and that he wishes you’d go on.” 

“ Does he wish it ? ” said the other. 

“ Ay,” groaned the old man, sitting down, and rocking 
himself to and fro. “ Go on, go on. It’s in vain to fight 
with it ; I can’t do it ; go on.” 

“I go on then,” said Jowl, “where I left off, when you 
got up so quick. If you’re persuaded that it’s time for 
luck to turn, as it certainly is, and find that you haven’t 
means enough to try it, (and that’s where it is, for you 
know, yourself, that you never have the funds to keep on 
long enough at a sitting,) help yourself to what seems 
put in your way on purpose. Borrow it, I say, and when 
you’re able, pay it back again.” 

“ Certainly,” Isaac List struck in, “ if this good lady 
as keeps the wax-works has money, and does keep it in 
a tin box when she goes to bed, and doesn’t lock her 
door for fear of fire, it seems a easy thing ; quite a Prov- 
idence, /should call it — but then I’ve been religiously 
brought up.” 

“ You see, Isaac,” said his friend, growing more eager, 
and drawing himself closer to the old man, while he 
signed to the gypsy not to come between them ; “ you 
see, Isaac, strangers are going in and out, every hour of 
the day ; nothing would be more likely than for one of 
these strangers to get under the good lady’s bed, or lock 
himself in the cupboard ; suspicion would be very wide, 
and would fall a long way from the mark, no doubt. I’d 
give him his revenge to the last farthing h<v brought, 
whatever the amount was.” 


158 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Bat could you ? ” urged Isaac List. “ Is your bank 
strong enough ? ” 

“ Strong enough ! ” answered the other, with assumed 
disdain. “ Here, you sir, give me that box out of the 
straw ! ” 

This was addressed to the gypsy, who crawled into the 
low tent on all fours, and after some rummaging and 
rustling returned with a cash-box, which the man who 
had spoken opened with a key he wore about his per- 
son. 

“ Do you see this ? ” he said, gathering up the money 
in his hand and letting it drop back into the box, be- 
tween his fingers, like water. “ Do you hear it ? Do 
you know the sound of gold ? There, put it back — and 
don’t talk about banks again, Isaac, till you’ve got one of 
your own.” 

Isaac List, with great apparent humility, protested 
that he had never doubted the credit of a gentleman so 
notorious for his honorable dealing as Mr. Jowl, and that 
he had hinted at the production of the box, not for the 
satisfaction of his doubts, for he could have none, but 
with a view to being regaled with a sight of so much 
wealth, which, though it might be deemed by some but 
an unsubstantial and visionary pleasure, was to one in 
his circumstances a source of extreme delight, only to be 
surpassed by its safe depository in his own personal 
pockets. Although Mr. List and Mr. Jowl addressed 
themselves to each other, it was remarkable that they 
both looked narrowly at the old man, who, with his eyes 
fixed upon the fire, sat brooding over it, yet listening 
eagerly — as it seemed, from a certainly involuntary mo- 
tion of the head, or twitching of the face from time to 
time — to all they said. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


159 


“ My advice,” said Jowl, lying down again, with a 
careless air, “ is plain — I have given it, in fact. I act 
as a friend. Why should I help a man to the means 
perhaps of winning all I have, unless I considered him 
my friend ? It’s foolish, I dare say, to be so thoughtful 
of the welfare of other people, but that’s my constitu- 
tion, and I can’t help it ; so don’t blame me, Isaac 
List.” 

“/blame you !” returned the person addressed; “net 
for the world, Mr. Jowl. I wish I could afford to bo 
as liberal as you ; and, as you say, he might pay it back 
if he won — and if he lost ” — 

“You’re not to take that into consideration at all,” said 
Jowl. “ But suppose he did, (and nothing’s less likely, 
from all I know of chances,) why, it’s better to lose other 
people’s money than one’s own, I hope ? ” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Isaac List rapturously, “ the pleasures 
of winning ! The delight of picking up the money — 
the bright, shining yellow-boys — and sweeping ’em into 
one’s pocket ! The deliciousness of having a triumph at 
last, and thinking that one didn’t stop short and turn back, 

but went half-way to meet it ! The but you’re not 

going, old gentleman ? ” 

“ I’ll do it,” said the old man, who had risen and taken 
two or three hurried steps away, and now returned as 
hurriedly. “ I’ll have it, every penny.” 

“ Why, that’s brave,” cried Isaac, jumping up and 
slapping him on the shoulder ; “ and I respect you for 
having so much young blood left. Ha, ha, ha! Joe 
Jowl’s half sorry he advised you now. We’ve got the 
laugh against him. Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

“He gives me my revenge, mind,” said the old man, 
pointing to him eagerly with his shrivelled hand ; “ mind 


160 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


— he stakes coin against coin, down to the last one in 
the box, be there many or few. Remember that ! ” 

“ I’m witness,” returned Isaac. “ I’ll see fair between 
you.” 

“ I have passed my word,” said Jowl, with feigned re- 
luctance, “ and I’ll keep it. When does this match come 
off? I wish it was over. — To-night ? ” 

“ I must have the money first,” said the old man ; 
“ and that I’ll have to-morrow ” — 

“ Why not to-night ? ” urged Jowl. 

“ It’s late now, and I should be flushed and flurried,” 
said the old man. “It must be softly done. No, to- 
morrow night.” 

“Then to-morrow be it,” said Jowl. “A drop of com- 
fort here. Luck to the best man ! Fill ! ” 

The gypsy produced three tin cups, and filled them to 
the brim with brandy. The old man turned aside and 
muttered to himself before he drank. Her own name 
struck upon the listener’s ear, coupled with some wish so 
fervent, that he seemed to breathe it in an agony of sup- 
plication. 

“ God be merciful to us ! ” cried the child within her- 
self, “ and help us in this trying hour ! What shall I do 
to save him ! ” 

The remainder of their conversation was carried on 
in a lower tone of voice, and was sufficiently concise ; 
relating merely to the execution of the project, and the 
best precautions for diverting suspicion. The old man 
then shook hands with his tempters, and withdrew. 

They watched his bowed and stooping figure as it re- 
treated slowly, and when he turned his head to look 
back, which he often did, waved their hands, or shouted 
some brief encouragement. It was not until they had 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


161 


seen him gradually diminish into a mere speck upon the 
distant road, that they turned to each other, and ventured 
to laugh aloud. 

“So,” said Jowl, warming his hands at the fire, “it’s 
done at last. He wanted more persuading than I ex- 
pecte 1. It’s three weeks ago since we first put this in 
his head. What’ll he bring, do you think ? ” 

“ Whatever he brings, it’s halved between us,” re- 
turned Isaac List. 

The other man nodded. “We must make quick work 
of it,” he said, “ and then cut his acquaintance, or we 
may be suspected. Sharp’s the word.” 

List and the gypsy acquiesced. When they had all 
three amused themselves a little with their victim’s 
infatuation, they dismissed the subject as one which 
had been sufficiently discussed, and began to talk in 
a jargon which the child did not understand. As 
their discourse appeared to relate to matters in which 
they were warmly interested, however, she deemed it 
the best time for escaping unobserved ; and crept away 
with slow and cautious steps, keeping in the shadow 
of the hedges, or forcing a path through them or the 
dry ditches, until she could emerge upon the road at 
a point beyond their range of vision. Then she fled 
homewards as quickly as she could, torn and bleed- 
ing from the wounds of thorns and briers, but more 
lacerated in mind, and threw herself upon her bed, 
distracted. 

The first idea that flashed upon her mind was flight, 
instant flight ; dragging him from that place, and rather 
dying of want upon the road-side, than ever exposing him 
again to such terrible temptations. Then, she remem- 
bered that the crime was not to be committed until next 
ll 


VOL. II. 


162 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


night, and there was the intermediate time for thinking, 
and resolving what to do. Then, she was distracted 
with a horrible fear that he might be committing it at 
that moment ; with a dread of hearing shrieks and cries 
piercing the silence of the night ; with fearful thoughts 
of what he might be tempted and led on to do, if he were 
detected in the act, and had but a woman to struggle 
with. It was impossible to bear such torture. She stole 
to the room where the money was, opened the door, and 
looked in. God be praised ! He was not there, and she 
was sleeping soundly. 

She went back to her own room, and tried to prepare 
herself for bed. But who could sleep — sleep ! who 
could lie passively down, distracted by such terrors ? 
They came upon her more and more strongly yet. Half 
undressed, and with her hair in wild disorder, she flew 
to the old man’s bedside, clasped him by the wrist, and 
roused him from his sleep. 

u What’s this ! ” he cried, starting up in bed, and fix- 
ing his eyes upon her spectral face. 

“ I have had a dreadful dream,” said the child, with 
an energy that nothing but such terrors could have 
inspired. “ A dreadful horrible dream. I have had 
it once before. It is a dream of gray-haired men 
like you, in darkened rooms by night, robbing the 
sleepers of their gold. Up, up ! ” The old man shook 
in every joint, and folded his hands like one who 
prays. 

“ Not to me,” said the child, “ not to me — to Heaven, 
to save us from such deeds ! This dream is too real. I 
cannot sleep, I cannot stay here, I cannot leave you alone 
under the roof where such dreams come. Up ! We must 
fly.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


163 


He looked at her as if she were a spirit — she might 
have been, for all the look of earth she had — and trem- 
bled more and more. 

“ There is no time to lose ; I will not lose one minute/' 
said the child. “ Up ! and away with me ! ” 

“ To-night ? ” murmured the old man. 

“ Yes, to-night,” replied the child. “ To-morrow night 
will be too late. The dream will have come again. 
Nothing but flight can save us. Up ! ” 

The old man rose from his bed : his forehead bedewed 
with the cold sweat of fear ; and, bending before the 
child as if she had been an angel messenger sent to 
lead him where she would, made ready to follow her. 
She took him by the hand and led him on. As they 
passed the door of the room he had proposed to rob, 
she shuddered and looked up into his face. What a 
white face was that, and with what a look did he meet 
hers ! 

She took him to her own chamber, and, still holding 
him by the hand as if she feared to lose him for an in- 
stant, gathered together the little stock she had, and 
hung her basket on her arm. The old man took his 
wallet from her hands and strapped it on his shoulders 
— his staff, too, she had brought away — and then she 
led him forth. 

Through the strait streets, and narrow crooked out- 
skirts, their trembling feet passed quickly. Up the steep 
hill too, crowned by the old gray castle, they toiled with 
rapid steps, and had not once looked behind. 

But as they drew nearer the ruined walls, the moon 
rose in all her gentle glory, and, from their venerable 
age, garlanded with ivy, moss, and waving grass, the 
child looked back upon the sleeping town, deep in 


164 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


tlie valley’s shade : and on the far-off river with its 
winding track of light : and on the distant hills ; and 
as she did so, she clasped the hand she held, less 
firmly, and bursting into tears, fell upon the old man* 
neck. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


165 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

Her momentary weakness past, the child again sum- 
moned the resolution which had until now sustained her, 
and, endeavoring to keep steadily in her view the one 
idea that they were flying from disgrace and crime, and 
that her grandfather’s preservation must depend solely 
on her firmness, unaided by one word of advice or any 
helping hand, urged him onward and looked back no 
more. 

While he, subdued and abashed, seemed to crouch be- 
fore her, and to shrink and cower down, as if in the 
presence of some superior creature, the child herself was 
sensible of a new feeling within her, which elevated her 
nature, and inspired her with an energy and confidence 
she had never known. There was no divided responsi- 
bility now ; the whole burden of their two lives had 
fallen upon her, and henceforth she must think and act 
for both. “ I have saved him,” she thought. “ In all 
dangers and distresses, I will remember that.” 

At any other time, the recollection of having deserted 
the friend who had shown them so much homely kind- 
ness, without a word of justification — the thought that 
they were guilty, in appearance, of treachery and ingrati- 
tude — even the having parted from the two sisters — 
tvould have filled her with sorrow and regret. But now, 
till other considerations were lost in the new uncertainties 


166 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


and anxieties of their wild and wandering life ; and the 
very desperation of their condition roused and stimulated 
her. 

In the pale moonlight, which lent a wanness of its own 
to the delicate face where thoughtful care already mingled 
with the winning grace and loveliness of youth, the too 
bright eye, the spiritual head, the lips that pressed each 
other with such high resolve and courage of the heart, 
the slight figure firm in its bearing, and yet so very 
weak, told their silent tale ; but told it only to the wind 
that rustled by, which, taking up its burden, carried, per- 
haps to some mother’s pillow, faint dreams of childhood 
fading in its bloom, and resting in the sleep that knows 
no waking. 

The night crept on apace, the moon went down, the 
stars grew pale and dim, and morning, cold as they, 
slowly approached. Then, from behind a distant hill, 
the noble sun rose up, driving the mists in phantom 
shapes before it, and clearing the earth of their ghostly 
forms till darkness came again. When it had climbed 
higher into the sky, and there was warmth in its cheer- 
ful beams, they laid them down to sleep, upon a bank, 
hard by some water. 

But Nell retained her grasp upon the old man’s arm, 
and long after he was slumbering soundly, watched him 
with untiring eyes. Fatigue stole over her at last ; her 
grasp relaxed, tightened, relaxed again, and they slep* 
6ide by side. 

A confused sound of voices, mingling with her dreams, 
awoke her. A man of very uncouth and rough appear- 
ance was standing over them, and two of his companions 
were looking on, from a long heavy boat which had come 
close to the bank while they 'were sleeping. The boat 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


167 


had neither oar nor sail, but was towed by a couple of 
horses, who, with the rope to which they were harnessed 
slack and dripping in the water, were resting on the 
path. 

“ Holloa ! ” said the man roughly. “ What’s the 
matter here ? ” 

“We were only asleep, sir,” said Nell. “We have 
been walking all night.” 

“ A pair of queer travellers to be walking all night,” 
observed the man who had first accosted them. “ One 
of you is a trifle too old for that sort of work, and the 
other a trifle too young. Where are you going ? ” 

Nell faltered, and pointed at hazard towards the West, 
upon which the man inquired if she meant a certain 
town which he named. Nell, to avoid more questioning, 
said, “ Yes, that was the place.” 

“ Where have you come from ? ” was the next ques- 
tion ; and this being an easier one to answer, Nell men- 
tioned the name of the village in which their friend the 
school-master dwelt, as being less likely to be known to 
the men or to provoke further inquiry. 

“ I thought somebody had been robbing and ill-using 
you, might be,” said the man. “ That’s all. Good- 
day.” 

Returning his salute and feeling greatly relieved by 
his departure, Nell looked after him as he mounted one 
of the horses, and the boat went on. It had not gone 
very far, when it stopped again, and she saw the men 
beckoning to her. 

“ Did you call to me ? ” said Nell, running up to them. 

“ You may go with us if you like,” replied one of 
those in the boat. “ We’re going to the same place.” 

The child hesitated for a moment. Thinking, as she 


168 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


had thought with great trepidation more than once 
before, that the men whom she had seen with her grand- 
father might, perhaps, in their eagerness for the booty, 
follow them, and, regaining their influence over him, set 
hers at nought ; and that if they went with these men, 
11 traces of them must surely be lost at that spot ; 
determined to accept the offer. The boat came close to 
the bank again, and before she had had any more time 
for consideration, she and her grandfather were on board, 
and gliding smoothly down the canal. 

The sun shone pleasantly on the bright water, which 
was sometimes shaded by trees, and sometimes open to a 
wide extent of country, intersected by running streams, 
and rich with wooded hills, cultivated land, and sheltered 
farms. Now and then, a village with its modest spire, 
thatched roofs, and gable-ends, would peep out from 
among the trees ; and, more than once, a distant town, 
with great church-towers looming through its smoke, and 
high factories or workshops rising above the mass of 
houses, would come in view, and, by the length of time 
it lingered in the distance, show them how slowly they 
travelled. Their way lay, for the most part, through the 
low grounds, and open plains ; and except these distant 
places, and occasionally some men working in the fields, 
or lounging on the bridges under which they passed, to 
see them creep along, nothing encroached on their 
monotonous and secluded track. 

Nell was rather disheartened, when they stopped at a 
kind of wharf late in the afternoon, to learn from one of 
the men that they would not reach their place of desti- 
nation until next day, and that, if she had no provision 
with her, she had better buy it there. She had but a 
few pence, having already bargained with them for some 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


169 


bread, but even of these it was necessary to bo very 
careful, as they were on their way to an utterly strange 
place, with no resource whatever. A small loaf and a 
morsel of cheese, therefore, were all she could afford, 
and with these she took her place in the boat again, and, 
after half an hour’s delay, during which the men were 
drinking at the public-house, proceeded on the journey. 

They brought some beer and spirits into the boat with 
them, and what with drinking freely before, and again 
now, were soon in a fair way of being quarrelsome and 
intoxicated. Avoiding the small cabin, therefore, which 
was very dark' and filthy, and to which they often invited 
both her and her grandfather, Nell sat in the open air 
with the old man by her side : listening to their boister- 
ous hosts with a palpitating heart, and almost wishing 
herself safe on shore again though she should have to 
walk all night. 

They were, in truth, very rugged, noisy fellows, and 
quite brutal among themselves, though civil enough to 
their two passengers. Thus, when a quarrel arose 
between the man who was steering and his friend in the 
cabin, upon the question who had first suggested the 
propriety of offering Nell some beer, and when the quar- 
rel led to a scuffle in which they beat each other fear- 
fully, to her inexpressible terror, neither visited his dis- 
pleasure upon her, but each contented himself with 
venting it on his adversary, on whom, in addition to 
blows, he bestowed a variety of compliments, which, 
happily for the child, were conveyed in terms to her 
quite unintelligible. The difference was finally adjusted, 
by the man who had come out of the cabin knocking the 
other into it head first, and taking the helm into his own 
hands, without evincing the least discomposure himself. 


17U 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


or causing any in his friend, who, being of a tolerably 
strong constitution and perfectly inured to such trifles, 
went to sleep as he was, with his heels upwards, and in 
a couple of minutes or so was snoring comfortably. 

By this time it was night again, and though the child 
felt cold, being but poorly clad, her anxious thoughts 
were far removed from her own suffering or uneasiness, 
and busily engaged in endeavoring to devise some 
scheme for their joint subsistence. The same spirit 
which had supported her on the previous night, upheld 
and sustained her now. Her grandfather lay sleeping 
safely at her side, and the crime to which his madness 
urged him, was not committed. That was her comfort. 

How every circumstance of her short, eventful life, 
came thronging into her mind, as they travelled on ! 
Slight incidents, never thought of, or remembered until 
now ; faces seen once and ever since forgotten ; words, 
scarcely heeded at the time ; scenes, of a year ago and 
those of yesterday, mixing up and linking themselves 
together ; familiar places shaping themselves out in the 
darkness from things which, when approached, were, of 
all others, the most remote and most unlike them ; 
sometimes, a strange confusion in her mind relative to 
the occasion of her being there, and the place to which 
she was going, and the people she was with ; and imag- 
ination suggesting remarks and questions which sounded 
so plainly in her ears, that she would start, and turn, and 
be almost tempted to reply ; — all the fancies and con- 
tradictions common in watching and excitement and rest- 
less change of place, beset the child. 

She happened, while she was thus engaged, to encoun- 
ter the face of the man on deck, in whom the sentimen- 
tal stage of drunkenness had now succeeded to the bois- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


171 


terous, and who, taking from his mouth a short pipe, 
quilted over with string, for its longer preservation, 
requested that she would oblige him with a song. 

“ You’ve got a very pretty voice, a very soft eye, and 
a very strong memory,” said this gentleman ; “ the voice 
and eye I’ve got evidence for, and the memory’s ail 
opinion of my own. And I’m never wrong. Let me 
hear a song this minute.” 

“ I don’t think I know one, sir,” returned Nell. 

“ You know forty-seven songs,” said the man, with a 
gravity which admitted of no altercation on the subject. 
“ Forty-seven’s your number. Let me hear one of ’em 
— the best. Give me a song this minute.” 

Not knowing what might be the consequences of 
irritating her friend, and trembling with the fear of 
doing so, poor Nell sang him some little ditty which she 
had learned in happier times, and which was so agree- 
able to his ear, that on its conclusion he in the same 
peremptory manner requested to be favored with another, 
to which he was so obliging as to roar a chorus to no 
particular tune, and with no words at all, but which 
amply made up in its amazing energy for its deficiency 
in other respects. The noise of this vocal performance 
awakened the other man, who, staggering upon deck and 
shaking his late opponent by the hand, swore that sing- 
ing was his pride and joy and chief delight, and that he 
desired no better entertainment. With a third call, more 
imperative than either of the two former, Nell felt 
obliged to comply, and this time a chorus was maintained 
not only by the two men together, but also by the third 
man on horseback, who, being by his position debarred 
from a nearer participation in the revels of the night, 
roared when his companions roare 1, and rent the very 


172 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


air. In this way, with little cessation, and singing the 
same songs again and again, the tired and exhausted 
child kept them in good-humor all that night ; and many 
a cottager, who was roused from his soundest sleep by 
the discordant chorus as it floated away upon the wind 
hid his head beneath the bedclothes and trembled at the 
sounds. 

At length the morning dawned. It was no sooner 
light than it began to rain heavily. As the child could 
not endure the intolerable vapors of the cabin, they 
covered her, in return for her exertions, with some 
pieces of sail-cloth and ends of tarpaulin, which sufficed 
to keep her tolerably dry and to shelter her grandfather 
besides. As the day advanced the rain increased. At 
noon it poured down more hopelessly and heavily than 
ever, without the faintest promise of abatement. 

They had, for some time, been gradually approaching 
the place for which they were bound. The water had 
become thicker and dirtier ; other barges, coming from 
it, passed them frequently ; the paths of coal-ash and 
huts of staring brick, marked the vicinity of some great 
manufacturing town ; while scattered streets and houses, 
and smoke from distant furnaces, indicated that they 
were already in the outskirts. Now, the clustered roofs, 
and piles of buildings, trembling with the working of 
engines, and dimly resounding with their shrieks and 
throbbings ; the tall chimneys vomiting forth a black 
vapor, which hung in a dense ill-favored cloud above the 
house-tops and filled the air with gloom ; the clank of 
hammers beating upon iron, the roar of busy streets ana 
noisy crowds, gradually augmenting until all the various 
sounds blended into one and none was distinguishable for 
itself, announced the termination of their journey. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


173 


The boat floated into the wharf to which it belonged. 
The men were occupied directly. The child and her 
grandfather, after waiting in vain to thank them, or ask 
them whither they should go, passed through a dirty 
lane into a crowded street, and stood, amid its din and 
tumult, and in the pouring rain, as strange, bewildered, 
and confused, as if they had lived a thousand years 
before, and were raised from the dead and placed there 
by a miracle. 


174 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XLIV. 

The throng of people hurried by, in two opposite 
streams, with no symptom of cessation or exhaustion ; 
intent upon their own affairs ; and undisturbed in their 
business speculations, by the roar of carts and wagons 
laden with clashing wares, the slipping of horses’ feet 
upon the wet and greasy pavement, the rattling of the 
rain on windows and umbrella-tops, the jostling of the 
more impatient passengers, and all the noise and tumult 
of a crowded street in the high tide of its occupation : 
while the two poor strangers, stunned and bewildered by 
the hurry they beheld but had no part in, looked mourn- 
fully on ; feeling, amidst the crowd, a solitude which has 
no parallel but in the thirst of the shipwrecked mariner, 
who, tossed to and fro upon the billows of a mighty ocean, 
his red eyes blinded by looking on the water which hems 
him in on every side, has not one drop to cool his burn- 
ing tongue. 

They withdrew into a low archway for shelter from 
the rain, and watched the faces of those who passed, to 
tii id in one among them a ray of encouragement or hope 
Some frowned, some smiled, some muttered to them- 
selves, some made slight gestures, as if anticipating the 
conversation in which they would shortly be engaged, 
*ome wore the cunning look of bargaining and plotting, 
some were anxious and eager, some slow and dull; in 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


175 


some countenances, were written gain ; in others, loss. 
It was like being in the confidence of all these people to 
stand quietly there, looking into their faces as they 
flitted past. In busy places, where each man has an 
object of his own, and feels assured that every other 
man has his, his character and purpose are written 
broadly in his face. In the public walks and lounges 
of a town, people go to see and to be seen, and there 
the same expression, with little variety, is repeated a 
hundred times. The working-day faces come nearer to 
the truth, and let it out more plainly. 

Falling into that kind of abstraction which such a 
solitude awakens, the child continued to gaze upon the 
passing crowd with a wondering interest, amounting 
almost to a temporary forgetfulness of her own con- 
dition. But cold, wet, hunger, want of rest, and lack 
of any place in which to lay her aching head, soon 
brought her thoughts back to the point whence they had 
strayed. No one passed who seemed to notice them, or 
to whom she durst appeal. After some time, they left 
their place of refuge from the weather, and mingled 
with the concourse. 

Evening came on. They were still wandering up and 
down, with fewer people about them, but with the same 
sense of solitude in their own breasts, and the same in- 
difference from all around. The lights in the streets 
and shops made them feel yet more desolate, for witl 
their help, night and darkness seemed to come on faster 
Shivering with the cold and damp, ill in body, and sick 
to death at heart, the child needed her utmost firmness 
and resolution even to creep along. 

Why had they ever come to this noisy town, when 
there were peaceful country places, in which, at least, 


176 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


they might have hungered and thirsted, with less suf- 
fering than in its squalid strife ! They were but an 
atom, here, in a mountain heap of misery, the very 
sight of which increased their hopelessness and suf- 
fering. 

T ,v3 child had not only to endure the accumulated 
wardships of their destitute condition, but to bear the re- 
proaches of her grandfather, who began to murmur at 
having been led away from their late abode, and demand 
that they should return to it. Being now penniless, and 
no relief or prospect of relief appearing, they retraced 
their steps through the deserted streets, and went back 
to the w’harf, hoping to find the boat in which they had 
come, and to be allowed to sleep on board that night. 
But here again they were disappointed, for the gate was 
closed, and some fierce dogs, barking at their approach, 
obliged them to retreat. 

“We must sleep in the open air to-night, dear,” said 
the child in a weak voice, as they turned away from this 
last repulse ; “ and to-morrow we will beg our way to 
some quiet part of the country, and try to earn our 
bread in very humble work.” 

“ Why did you bring me here ? ” returned the old 
man fiercely. “ I cannot bear these close eternal streets. 
We came from a quiet part. Why did you force me to 
leave it ? ” 

“ Because I must have that dream I told you of, no 
nore,” said the child, with a momentary firmness that 
lost itself in tears ; “ and we must live among poor 
people, or it will come again. Dear grandfather, you 
are old and weak, I know ; but look at me. I never 
will complain if you will not, but I have some suffer- 
ing indeed.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


177 


“ Ah ! poor, houseless, wandering, motherless child ! ” 
cried the old man, clasping his hands and gazing as if for 
the first time upon her anxious face, her travel-stained 
dress, and bruised and swollen feet ; “ has all my agony 
of care brought her to this at last ! Was I a happy 
man once, and have I lost happiness and all I had, for 
this!” 

“ If we were in the country now,” said the child, with 
assumed cheerfulness, as they walked on looking about 
hem for a shelter, “ we should find some good old tree, 
stretching out his green arms as if he loved us, and nod- 
ding and rustling as if he would have us fall asleep, 
thinking of him while he watched. Please God, we 
shall be there soon — to-morrow or next day at the far- 
thest — and in the mean time let us think, dear, that it 
was a good thing we came here ; for we are lost in the 
crowd and hurry of this place, and if any cruel people 
should pursue us, they could surely never trace us 
farther. There’s comfort in that. And here’s a deep 
old door-way — very dark, but quite dry, and warm too, 
for the wind don’t blow in here — What’s that ! ” 

Uttering a half-shriek, she recoiled from a black figure 
which came suddenly out of the dark recess in which 
they were about to take refuge, and stood still, looking 
at them. 

“ Speak again,” it said ; “ do I know the voice ? ” 

“ No,” replied the child timidly ; “ we are strangers, 
and having no money for a night’s lodging, were going to 
rest here.” 

There was a feeble lamp at no great distance; the 
only one in the place, which was a kind of square yard, 
but sufficient to show how poor and mean it was. To 
this, the figure beckoned them ; at the same time drawing 

VOL IT. 12 


178 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


within its rays, as if to show that it had no desire to 
conceal itself or take them at an advantage. 

The form was that of a man, miserably clad and be- 
grimed with smoke, which, perhaps by its contrast with 
the natural color of his skin, made him look paler than 
Jbe really was. That he was naturally of a very wan and 
pallid aspect, however, his hollow cheeks, sharp features, 
and sunken eyes, no less than a certain look of patient 
endurance, sufficiently testified. His voice was harsh by 
nature, but not brutal ; and though his face, besides pos- 
sessing the characteristics already mentioned, was over- 
shadowed by a quantity of long dark hair, its expression 
was neither ferocious nor bad. 

“ How came you to think of resting there ? ” he said. 
“ Or how,” he added, looking more attentively at the 
child, “ do you come to want a place of rest at this time 
of night ? ” 

Our misfortunes,” the grandfather answered, “ are 
the cause.” 

“ Do you know,” said the man, looking still more 
earnestly at Nell, “ how wet she is, and that the damp 
streets are not a place for her ? ” 

ft I know it well, God help me,” he replied. “ What 
can I do ! ” 

The man looked at Nell again, and gently touched her 
garments, from which the rain was running off in little 
6treams. “ I can give you warmth,” he said, after a 
pause ; “ nothing else. Such lodging as I have, is in 
that house,” pointing to the door-way from which he had 
emerged, “ but she is safer and better there than here. 
The fire is in a rough place, but you can pass the night 
beside it safely, if you’ll trust yourselves to me. You 
see that red light yonder ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


179 


They raised their eyes, and saw a lurid glare hanging 
in the dark sky ; the dull reflection of some distant 
fire. 

“ It’s not far,” said the man. “ Shall I take you there? 
You were going to sleep upon cold bricks ; I can give 
you a bed of warm ashes — nothing better.” 

Without waiting for any further reply than he saw in 
their looks, he took Nell in his arms, and bade the old 
man follow. 

Carrying her as tenderly, and as easily too, as if she 
had been an infant, and showing himself both swift and 
sure of foot, he led the way through what appeared to be 
the poorest and most wretched quarter of the town ; not 
turning aside to avoid the overflowing kennels or running 
water-spouts, but holding his course, regardless of such 
obstructions, and making his way straight through them. 
They had proceeded thus, in silence, for some quartei 
of an hour, and had lost sight of the glare to which he 
had pointed, in the dark and narrow ways by which they 
had come* when it suddenly burst upon them again, 
streaming up from the high chimney of a building close 
before them. 

“ This is the place,” he said, pausing at a door to put 
Nell down and take her hand. “ Don’t be afraid. 
There’s nobody here will harm you.” 

It needed a strong confidence in this assurance to in- 
duce them to enter, and what they saw inside did not 
diminish their apprehension and alarm. In a large and 
lofty building, supported by pillars of iron, with great 
black apertures in the upper walls, open to the external 
air ; echoing to the roof with the beating of hammers 
and roar of furnaces, mingled with the hissing of red- 
hot metal plunged in water, and a hundred strange un- 


180 


fHE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


earthly noises never heard elsewhere ; in this gloomy 
place, moving like demons among the flame and smoke, 
dimly and fitfully seen, flushed and tormented by the 
burning fires, and wielding great weapons, a faulty blow 
from any one of which must have crushed some work 
man’s skull, a number of men labored like giants 
Others, reposing upon heaps of coals or ashes, with 
their faces turned to the black vault above, slept or 
rested from their toil. Others, again, opening the white- 
hot furnace-doors, cast fuel on the flames, which came 
rushing and roaring forth to meet it, and licked it up like 
oil. Others drew forth, with clashing noise, upon the 
ground, great sheets of glowing steel, emitting an insup- 
portable heat, and a dull deep light like that which red- 
dens in the eyes of savage beasts. 

Through these bewildering sights and deafening sounds, 
their conductor led them to where, in a dark portion of 
the building, one furnace burnt by night and day — so, at 
least, they gathered from the motion of his lips, for as 
yet they could only see him speak : not hear him. The 
man who had been watching this fire, and whose task 
was ended for the present, gladly withdrew, and left them 
with their friend, w T ho, spreading Nell’s little cloak 'upon 
a heap of ashes, and showing her where she could hang 
her outer-clothes to dry, signed to her and the old man 
to lie down and sleep. For himself, he took his station on 
a rugged mat before the furnace-door, and resting his 
chin upon his hands, watched the flame as it shone 
through the iron chinks, and the white ashes as they 
fell into their bright hot grave below. 

The warmth of her bed, hard and humble as it was, 
combined with the great fatigue she had undergone, soon 
caused the tumult of the place to fall with a gentler 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


181 


Bound upon the child’s tired ears, and was not long in 
lulling her to sleep. The old man was stretched beside 
her, and with her hand upon his neck she lay and 
dreamed. 

It was yet night when she awoke, nor did she know 
how long, or for how short a time, she had slept. But 
she found herself protected, both from any cold air that 
might find its way into the building, and from the scorch- 
ing heat, by some of the workmen’s clothes ; and glanc- 
ing at their friend saw that he sat in exactly the same 
attitude, looking with a fixed earnestness of attention 
towards the fire, and keeping so very still that he did 
not even seem to breathe. She lay in the state between 
sleeping and waking, looking so long at his motionless 
figure that at length she almost feared he had died as he 
sat there ; and, softly rising and drawing close to him, 
ventured to whisper in his ear. 

He moved, and glancing from her to the place she 
had lately occupied, as if to assure himself that it was 
really the child so near him, looked inquiringly into her 
face. 

“ I feared you were ill,” she said. “ The other men 
are all in motion, and you are so very quiet.” 

“ They leave me to myself,” he replied. “ They know 
my humor. They laugh at me, but don’t harm me in it. 
See yonder there — that’s my friend.” 

“ The fire ? ” said the child. 

“ It has been alive as long as I have,” the man made 
answer. “ We talk and think together all night long.” 

The child glanced quickly at him in her surprise, but 
he had turned his eyes in their former direction, and was 
vnusing as before. 

“ It’s like a book to me,” he said — u the or ly book 1 


182 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ever learned to read ; and many an old story it tells me. 
It’s music, for I should know its voice among a thousand, 
and there are other voices in its roar. It has its pictures 
too. You don’t know how many strange faces and dif- 
ferent scenes I trace in the red-hot coals. It’s my 
memory, that fire, and shows me all my life.” 

The child, bending down to listen to his words, could 
not help remarking with what brightened eyes he con- 
tinued to speak and muse. 

“ Yes,” he said, with a faint smile, “ it was the same 
when 1 was quite a baby, and crawled about it, till I fell 
asleep. My father watched it then.” 

“ Had you no mother ? ” asked the child. 

“ No, she was dead. Women work hard in these 
parts. She worked herself to death they told me, and, 
as they said so then, the fire has gone on saying the same 
thing ever since. I suppose it was true. I have always 
believed it.” 

“ Were you brought up here, then,” said the child. 

“ Summer and winter,” he replied. “ Secretly at first, 
but when they found it out, they let him keep me here. 
So the fire nursed me — the same fire. It has never 
gone out.” 

“ You are fond of it ? ” said the child. 

“ Of course I am. He died before it. I saw him 
fall down — just there, where those ashes are burning 
now — and wondered, I remember, why it didn’t help 
him.” 

u Have you been here, ever since ? ” asked the child 

“ Ever since I came to watch it ; but there was a 
while between, and a very cold dreary while it was. It 
burnt all the time though, and roared and leaped when I 
came back, as it used to do in our play-days. You may 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOT. 


183 


guess, from looking at me, what kind of child I was, but 
for all the difference between us I was a child, and when 
I saw you in the street to-night, you put me in mind of 
myself, as I was after he died, and made me wish to 
bring you to the fire. I thought of those old times 
again, when I saw you sleeping by it. You should 
be sleeping now. Lie down again, poor child, lie down 
again ! ” 

With that, he led her to her rude couch, and covering 
her with the clothes with which she had found herself 
enveloped when she woke, returned to his seat, whence 
he moved no more unless to feed the furnace, but re- 
mained motionless as a statue. The child continued to 
watch him for a little time, but soon yielded to the drow- 
siness that came upon her, and, in the dark strange place 
and on the heap of ashes, slept as peacefully, as if the 
room had been a palace chamber, and the bed, a bed of 
down. 

When she awoke again, broad day was shining through 
the lofty openings in the walls, and, stealing in slanting 
rays but midway down, seemed to make the building 
darker than it had been at night. The clang and tumult 
were still going on, and the remorseless fires were burn- 
ing fiercely as before ; for few changes of night and day 
brought rest or quiet there. 

Her friend parted his breakfast — a scanty mess of 
coffee and some coarse bread — with the child and her 
grandfather, and inquired whither they were going. 
She told him that they sought some distant country 
place, remote from towns or even other villages, and 
with a faltering tongue inquired wbat road they would 
do best to take. 

“ I know little of the country,” he said, shaking his 


184 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


head, “ for such as I, pass all our lives before our 
furnace doors, and seldom go forth to breathe. But 
there are such places yonder.” 

“ And far from here ? ” said Nell. 

“Ay surely. How could they be near us, and be 
green and fresh ? The road lies, too, through miles 
and miles, all lighted up by fires like ours — a strange 
black road, and one that would frighten you by night.” 

“We are here and must go on,” said the child boldly; 
for she saw that the old man listened with anxious ears 
to this account. 

“ Rough people — paths never made for little feet like 
yours — a dismal, blighted way — is there no turning 
back, my child ? ” 

“ There is none,” cried Nell, pressing forward. “ If 
you can direct us, do. If not, pray do not seek to turn 
us from our purpose. Indeed you do not know the 
danger that we shun, and how right and true we are 
in flying from it, or you would not try to stop us, I 
am sure you would not.” 

“ God forbid, if it is so ! ” said their uncouth pro- 
tector, glancing from the eager child to her grandfather, 
who hung his head and bent his eyes upon the ground. 
“ I’ll direct you from the door, the best I can. I wish 
I could do more.” 

He showed them, then, by which road they must 
leave the town, and what course they should hold when 
they had gained it. He lingered so long on these in- 
structions, that the child, with a fervent blessing, tore 
herself away, and staid to hear no more. 

But, before they had reached the corner of the lane, 
the man came running after them, and, pressing her 
hand, left something in it — two old, battered, smoke- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


185 


encrusted penny pieces. Who knows but they shone 
as brightly in the eyes of angels, as golden gifts that 
have been chronicled on tombs ? 

And thus they separated ; the child to lead her sacred 
charge farther from guilt and shame ; and the laborer to 
attach a fresh interest to the spot where his guests had 
slept, and read new histories in his furnace-fire. 


186 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XLY. 

In all tlieir journeying, they had never longed so 
ardently, they had- never so pined and wearied, for the 
freedom of pure air and open country, as now. No. 
not even on that memorable morning, when, deserting 
their old home, they abandoned themselves to the mer- 
cies of a strange world, and left all the dumb and sense- 
less things they had known and loved, behind — not 
even then, had they so yearned for the fresh solitudes 
of wood, hill-side, and field, as now, when the noise and 
dirt and vapor, of the great manufacturing town, reeking 
with lean misery and hungry wretchedness, hemmed 
them in on every side, and seemed to shut out hope, 
and render escape impossible. 

“ Two days and nights ! ” thought the child. “ He 
said two days and nights we should have to spend 
among such scenes as these. Oh ! if we live to reach 
the country once again, if we get clear of these dread- 
ful places, though it is only to lie down and die, with 
what a grateful heart I shall thank God for so mucl 
mercy ! ” 

With thoughts like this, and with some vague design 
of travelling to a great distance among streams and 
mountains, where only very poor and simple people 
lived, and where they might maintain themselves by 
rery humble helping work in farms, free from such 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


187 


terrors as that from which they fled, — the child, with 
no resource but the poor man’s gift, and no encourage- 
ment but that which flowed from her own heart, and 
its sense of the truth and right of what she did, nerv- 
ed herself to this last journey and boldly pursued her 
task. 

“We shall be very slow to-day, dear,” she said, as 
they toiled painfully through the streets ; “ my feet are 
sore, and I have pains in all my limbs from the wet 
of yesterday. I saw that he looked at us and thought 
of that, when he said how long we should be upon the 
road.” 

“ It was a dreary way, he told us of,” returned her 
grandfather, piteously. “ Is there no other road ? Will 
you not let me go some other way than this ? ” 

“ Places lie beyond these,” said the child, firmly, 
“ where we may live in peace, and be tempted to do 
no harm. We will take the road that promises to have 
that end, and we would not turn out of it, if it were 
a hundred times worse than our fears lead us to ex- 
pect. We would not, dear, would we ? ” 

“ No,” replied the old man, wavering in his voice, 
no less than in his manner. “ No. Let us go on. I 
am ready. I am quite ready, Nell.” 

The child walked with more difiiculty than she had 
led her companion to expect, for the pains that racked 
her joints were of no common severity, and every exer- 
tion increased them. But they wrung from her no 
complaint, or look of suffering ; and, though the two trav- 
ellers proceeded very slowly, they did proceed. Clearing 
the town in course of time, they began to feel that they 
were fairly on their way. 

A long suburb of red brick houses, — some with 


188 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


patches of garden-ground, where coal-dust and factory 
smoke darkened the shrinking leaves, and coarse rank 
flowers, and where the struggling vegetation sickened 
and sank under the hot breath of kiln and furnace, 
making them by its presence seem yet more blighting 
und unwholesome than in the town itself, — a long, flat, 
straggling suburb passed, they came, by slow degrees, 
upon a cheerless region, where not a blade of grass was 
seen to grow, where not a bud put forth its promise in 
the spring, where nothing green could live but on the 
surface of the stagnant pools, which here and there lay 
idly sweltering by the black roadside. 

Advancing more and more into the shadow of this 
mournful place, its dark depressing influence stole upon 
their spirits, and filled them with a dismal gloom. On 
every side, and far as the eye could see into the hea\y 
distance, tall chimneys, crowding on each other, and 
presenting that endless repetition of the same dull, ugly, 
form, which is the horror of oppressive dreams, poured 
out their plague of smoke, obscured the light, and made 
foul the melancholy air. On mounds of ashes by the 
way-side, sheltered only by a few rough boards, or rot- 
ten pent-house roofs, strange engines spun and writhed 
like tortured creatures ; clanking their iron chains, 
shrieking in their rapid whirl from time to time as 
though in torment unendurable, and making the ground 
tremble with their agonies. Dismantled houses here 
and there appeared, tottering to the earth, propped up 
by fragments of others that had fallen down, unroofed, 
windowless, blackened, desolate, but yet inhabited. Men, 
women, children, wan in their looks and ragged in attire, 
tended the engines, fed their tributary fires, begged upon 
the road, or scowled half-naked from the doorless houses. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


189 


Then, came more of the wrathful monsters, whose like 
they almost seemed to be in their wildness and their 
untamed air, screeching and turning round and round 
again ; and still, before, behind, and to the right and left, 
was the same interminable perspective of brick towers 
never ceasing in their black vomit, blasting all things 
living or inanimate, shutting out the face of day, and 
closing in on all these horrors with a dense dark cloud. 

But, night-time in this dreadful spot ! — night, when 
the smoke was changed to fire; when every chimney 
spirted up its flame; and places, that had been dark 
vaults all day, now shone red-hot, with figures moving 
to and fro within their blazing jaws, and calling to one 
another with hoarse cries — night, when the noise of 
every strange machine was aggravated by the dark- 
ness ; when the people near them looked wilder and 
more savage ; when bands of unemployed laborers pa- 
raded the roads, or clustered by torch-light round their 
leaders, who told them, in stern language, of their 
wrongs, and urged them on to frightful cries and 

threats ; when maddened men, armed with sword and 

firebrand, spurning the tears and prayers of women 
who would restrain them, rushed forth on errands of 
terror and destruction, to work no ruin half so surely 
as their own — night, when carts came rumbling by, 
filled with rude coffins (for contagious disease and 
death had been busy with the living crops) ; when 
orphans cried, and distracted women shrieked and fol- 
lowed in their wake — night, when some called for 

bread, and some for drink to drown their cares, and 

some with tears, and some with staggering feet, and 
some with bloodshot eyes, went brooding home — night, 
frhich, unlike the night that Heaven sends on earth, 


190 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


brought with it no peace, nor quiet, nor signs of blessed 
sleep — who shall tell the terrors of the night to the 
young wandering child ! 

And yet she lay down, with nothing between her 
and the sky ; and, with no fear for herself, for she 
was past it now, put up a prayer for the poor old man. 
So very weak and spent, she felt, so very calm and 
unresisting, that she had no thought of any wants of 
her own, but prayed that God would raise up some 
friend for him . She tried to recall the way they had 
come, and to look in the direction where the fire by 
which they had slept last night was burning. She 
had forgotten to ask the name of the poor man, their 
friend, and when she had remembered him in her 
prayers, it seemed ungrateful not to turn one look 
towards the spot where he was watching. 

A penny loaf was all they had had that day. It 
was very little, but even hunger was forgotten in the 
strange tranquillity that crept over her senses. She 
lay down, very gently, and, with a quiet smile upon 
her face, fell into a slumber. It was not like sleep — 
and yet it must have been, or w T hy those pleasant 
dreams of the little scholar all night long ! 

Morning came. Much weaker, diminished powers 
even of sight and hearing, and yet the child made no 
complaint — perhaps would have made none, even if 
6he had not had that inducement to be silent, travel- 
ling by her side. She felt a hopelessness of their ever 
being extricated together from that forlorn place ; a dull 
conviction that she was very ill, perhaps dying ; but no 
Pear or anxiety. 

A loathing of food that she was not conscious of 
until they expended their last penny in the purchase 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


191 


of another loaf, prevented her partaking even of tlii 3 
poor repast. Her grandfather ate greedily, which -she 
was glad to see. 

Their way lay through the same scenes as yester- 
day, with no variety or improvement. There was the 
same thick air, difficult to breathe ; the same blighted 
ground, the same hopeless prospect, the same misery 
and distress. Objects appeared more dim, the noise 
less, the path more rugged and uneven, for sometimes 
she stumbled, and became roused, as it were, in the 
effort to prevent herself from falling. Poor child ! the 
cause was in her tottering feet. 

Towards the afternoon, her grandfather complained 
bitterly of hunger. She approached one of the wretched 
hovels by the way-side, and knocked with her hand 
upon the door. 

“ What would you have here ? ” said a gaunt man, 
opening it. 

“ Charity. A morsel of bread.” 

“ Do you see that ? ” returned the man hoarsely, 
pointing to a kind of bundle on the ground. “That’s 
a dead child. I and five hundred other men were 
thrown out of work, three months ago. That is my 
third dead child, and last. Do you think 1 have char- 
ity to bestow, or a morsel of bread to spare ? ” 

The child recoiled from the door, and it closed upon 
her. Impelled by strong necessity, she knocked at an- 
other : a neighboring one, which, yielding to the slight 
pressure of her hand, flew open. 

It seemed that a couple of poor families lived in 
this hovel, for two women, each among children of her 
own, occupied different portions of the room. In the 
centre, stood a grave gentleman in black, who appeared 


192 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


to have just entered, and who held by the arm a 
boy. 

“ Here, woman,” he said, “ here’s your deaf and dumb 
son. You may thank me for restoring him to you. He 
was brought before me, this morning, charged with theft ; 
and with any other boy it would have gone hard, I as* 
sure you. But, as I had compassion on his infirmities, 
and thought he might have learnt no better, I have 
managed to bring him back to you. Take more care 
of him for the future.” 

“ And won’t you give me back my son ! ” said the 
other woman, hastily rising and confronting him. 
“ Won’t you give me back my son, sir, who was trans- 
ported for the same offence ! ” 

“Was he deaf and dumb, woman?” asked the gen- 
tleman sternly. 

“ Was he not, sir ? ” 

“You know he was not.” 

“ He was,” cried the woman. “ He was deaf, dumb, 
and blind, to all that was good and right, from his cradle. 
Her boy may have learnt no better ! where did mine 
learn better ? where could he ? who was there to teach 
him better, or where was it to be learnt ? ” 

“ Peace, woman,” said the gentleman, “ your boy was 
in possession of all his senses.” 

“ He was,” cried the mother ; “ and he was the more 
easy to be led astray because he had them. If you 
save this boy because he may not know right from 
wrong, why did you not save mine who was never 
taught the difference ? You gentlemen have as good 
a right to punish her boy, that God has kept in igno- 
rance of sound and speech, as you have to punish mine, 
that you kept in ignorance yourselves. How many of 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


193 


the girls and boys — ah, men and women too — that 
are brought before you and you don’t pity, are deaf and 
dumb in their minds, and go wrong in that state, and 
are punished in that state, body and soul, while you 
gentlemen are quarrelling among yourselves whether 
they ought to learn this or that ? — Be a just man, 
sir, and give me back my son ! ” 

“ You are desperate,” said the gentleman, taking out 
his snuff-box, “and I am sorry for you.” 

“ I am desperate,” returned the woman, “ and you 
have made me so. Give me back my son to work 
for these helpless children. Be a just man, sir, and, 
as you have had mercy upon this boy, give me back 
my son ! ” 

The child had seen and heard enough to know that 
this was not a place at which to ask for alms. She 
led the old man softly from the door, and they pursued 
their journey. 

With less and less of hope or strength, as they went 
on, but with an undiminished resolution not to betray 
by any word or sign her sinking state, so long as she 
had energy to move, the child, throughout the remain- 
der of that hard day, compelled herself to proceed : 
not even stopping to rest as frequently as usual, to 
compensate in some measure for the tardy pace at 
which she was obliged to walk. Evening was draw- 
ing on, but had not closed in, when — still travelling 
among the same dismal objects — they came to a busy 
town. 

Faint and spiritless as they were, its streets were 
insupportable. After humbly asking for relief at some 
few doors, and being repulsed, they agreed to make 
their way out of it as speedily as they could, and try 
13 


VOL. II. 


194 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


if the inmates of any lone house beyond would have 
more pity on their exhausted state. 

They were dragging themselves along through the 
last street, and the child felt that the time was close 
at hand when her enfeebled powers would bear no 
more. There appeared before them, at this juncture 
going in the same direction as themselves, a traveller 
on foot, who, with a portmanteau strapped to his back, 
leaned upon a stout stick as he walked, and read from 
a book which he held in his other hand. 

It was not an easy matter to come up with him, 
and beseech his aid, for he w r alked fast, and was a little 
distance in advance. At length he stopped, to look 
more attentively at some passage in his book. Ani- 
mated with a ray of hope, the child shot on before her 
grandfather, and, going close to the stranger without 
rousing him by the sound of her footsteps, began, in 
a few faint words, to implore his help. 

He turned his head. The child clapped her hands to- 
gether, uttered a wild shriek, and fell senseless at his 
feet. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


195 


CHAPTER XLVI. 

It was the poor school-master. No other than the poor 
school-master. Scarcely less moved and surprised by the 
sight of the child than she had been on recognizing him, 
he stood, for a moment, silent and confounded by this un- 
expected apparition, without even the presence of mind 
to raise her from the ground. 

But, quickly recovering his self-possession, he threw 
down his stick and book, and dropping on one knee beside 
her, endeavored, by such simple means as occurred to him, 
to restore her to herself ; while her grandfather, standing 
idly by, wrung his hands, and implored her with many 
endearing expressions to speak to him, were it only a 
word. 

“ She is quite exhausted,” said the schoolmaster, glanc- 
ing upward into his face. u You have taxed her powers 
too far, friend.” 

“ She is perishing of want,” rejoined the old man. * I 
never thought how weak and ill she was, till now.” 

Casting a look upon him, half-reproachful and half- 
compassionate, the school-master took the child in his 
arms, and, bidding the old man gather up her little bas- 
ket and follow him directly, bore her away at his utmost 
speed. 

There was a small inn within sight, to which, it would 
seem, he had been directing his steps when so unexpect- 


196 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


edly overtaken. Towards this place he hurried with his 
unconscious burden, and rushing into the kitchen, and 
calling upon the company there assembled to make way 
for God’s sake, deposited it on a chair before the fire. 

The company, who rose in confusion on the school- 
master’s entrance, did as people usually do under such 
circurr^ances. Everybody called for his or her favorite 
remedy, which nobody brought ; each cried for more air, 
at the same time carefully excluding what air there was, 
by closing round the object of sympathy ; and all won- 
dered why somebody else didn’t do, what it never ap- 
peared to occur to them might be done by themselves. 

The landlady, however, who possessed more readiness 
and activity than any of them, and who had withal a 
quicker perception of the merits of the case, soon came 
running in, with a little hot brandy and water, followed 
by her servant-girl, carrying vinegar, hartshorn, smelling- 
salts, and such other restoratives ; which, being duly ad- 
ministered, recovered the child so far as to enable her to 
thank them in a faint voice, and to extend her hand to 
the poor school-master, who stood, with an anxious face, 
hard by. Without suffering her to speak another word, 
or so much as to stir a finger any more, the women 
straightway carried her off to bed ; and, having covered 
her up warm, bathed her cold feet, and wrapped them in 
flannel, they despatched a messenger for the doctor. 

The doctor, who was a red-nosed gentleman with a 
great bunch of seals dangling below a waistcoat of ribbed 
black satin, arrived with all speed, and taking his seat by 
the bedside of poor Nell, drew out his watch, and felt her 
pulse. Then he looked at her tongue, then he felt her 
pulse again, and while he did so, he eyed the half-emp- 
tied wine-glass as if in profound abstraction. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


197 


44 I should give her ” — said the doctor at length, “ A 
teaspoonful, every now and then, of hot brandy and 
water.” 

“ Why, that’s exactly what we’ve done, sir ! ” said the 
delighted landlady. 

44 I should also,” observed the doctor, who had passe 
the foot-bath on the stairs, 44 1 should also,” said the doc- 
tor, in the voice of an oracle, 44 put her feet in hot water, 
and wrap them up in flannel. I should likewise,” said 
the doctor, with increased solemnity, 44 give her some- 
thing light for supper — the wing of a roasted fowl 
now ” — 

44 Why goodness gracious me, sir, it’s cooking at the 
kitchen-fire this instant ! ” cried the landlady. And so 
indeed it was, for the school-master had ordered it to be 
put down, and it was getting on so well that the doctor 
might have smelt it if he had tried — perhaps he did. 

44 You may then,” said the doctor, rising gravely, 44 give 
her a glass of hot mulled port wine, if she likes wine ” — 

44 And a toast, sir ? ” suggested the landlady. 

44 Ay,” said the doctor, in the tone of a man who makes 
a dignified concession. 44 And a toast — of bread. But 
be very particular to make it of bread, if you please, 
ma’am.” 

With which parting injunction, slowly and portentous- 
ly delivered, the doctor departed, leaving the whole 
house in admiration of that wisdom which tallied so 
closely with their own. Everybody said he was a very 
shrewd doctor indeed, and knew perfectly what people’s 
°onstitutions were ; which there appears some reason to 
suppose he did. 

While her supper was preparing, the child fell into a 
refreshing sleep, from which they were obliged to rouse 


198 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


her when it was ready. As she evinced extraordinary 
uneasiness on learning that her grandfather was below 
stairs, and was greatly troubled at the thought of their 
being apart, he took his supper with her. Finding her 
still very restless on this head, they made him up a bed 
in an inner room, to which he presently retired. The 
key of this chamber happened by good fortune to be on 
that side of the door which was in Nell’s room ; she 
turned it on him when the landlady had withdrawn, and 
crept to bed again with a thankful heart. 

The school-master sat for a long time smoking his pipe 
by the kitchen-fire, which was now deserted, thinking, 
with a very happy face, on the fortunate chance which 
had brought him so opportunely to the child’s assistance, 
and parrying, as well as in his simple way he could, the 
inquisitive cross-examination of the landlady, who had a 
great curiosity to be made acquainted with every partic- 
ular of Nell’s life and history. The poor school-master 
was so open-hearted, and so little versed in the most or- 
dinary cunning or deceit, that she could not have failed 
to succeed in the first five minutes, but that he happened 
to be unacquainted with what she wished to know ; and 
so he told her. The landlady, by no means satisfied 
with this assurance, which she considered an ingenious 
evasion of the question, rejoined that he had his reasons 
of course. Heaven forbid that she should wish to pry 
into the affairs of her customers, which indeed were no 
business of hers, who had so many of her own. She 
had merely asked a civil question, and to be sure she 
knew it would meet with a civil answer. She was quite 
satisfied — quite. She had rather perhaps that he would 
have said at once that he didn’t choose to be communi- 
cative, because that would have been plain and intelli- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


199 


gible. However, she had no right to be offended of 
coarse. He was the best judge, and had a perfect right 
to say what he pleased ; nobody could dispute that, for a 
moment. Oh dear, no ! 

“ I assure you, my good lady,” said the mild school- 
master, “ that I have told you the plain truth — as I 
hope to be saved, I have told you the truth.” 

“ Why then, I do believe you are in earnest,” rejoined 
the landlady, with ready good-humor, “and I’m very 
sorry I have teased you. But curiosity you know is the 
curse of our sex, and that’s the fact.” 

The landlord scratched his head, as if he thought the 
curse sometimes involved the other sex likewise ; but he 
was prevented from making any remark to that effect, if 
he had it in contemplation to do so, by the school-master’s 
rejoinder. 

“ You should question me for half a dozen hours at a 
sitting, and welcome, and I would answer you patiently 
for the kindness of heart you have shown to-night, if I 
could,” he said. “ As it is, please to take care of her in 
the morning, and let me know early how she is ; and to 
understand that I am paymaster for the three.” 

So, parting with them on most friendly terms, not the 
less cordial perhaps for this last direction, the schoolmas- 
ter went to his bed, and the host and hostess to theirs. 

The report in the morning was, that the child was bet- 
ter, but was extremely weak, and would at least require 
a day’s rest, and careful nursing, before she could pro 
ceed upon her journey. The school-master received this 
communication with perfect cheerfulness, observing that 
lie had a day to spare — two days for that matter — and 
tould very well afford to wait. As the patient was to 
sit up in the evening, he appointed tc visit her in her 


200 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


room at a certain hour, and rambling out with his book, 
did not return until the hour arrived. 

Nell could not help weeping when they were left 
nlone ; whereat, and at sight of her pale face and wasted 
igure, the simple school-master shed a few tears himself, 
at the same time showing in very energetic language 
how foolish it was to do so, and how very easily it could 
be avoided, if one tried. 

“ It makes me unhappy even in the midst of all this 
kindness,” said the child, “ to think that we should be a 
burden upon you. How can I ever thank you ? If I 
had not met you so far from home, I must have died, 
and he would have been left alone.” 

“ We’ll not talk about dying,” said the school-master ; 
“ and as to burdens, I have made my fortune since you 
slept at my cottage.” 

“ Indeed ! ” cried the child joyfully. 

“ Oh yes,” returned her friend. “ I have been ap- 
pointed clerk and school-master to a village a long way 
from here — and a long way from the old one as you 
may suppose — at five-and-thirty pounds a year. Five- 
and-thirty pounds ! ” 

“I am very glad,” said the child — “so very, very, 
glad.” 

“ I am on my way there now,” resumed the school-mas- 
ter. “ They allowed me the stage-coach-hire — outside 
stage-coach-hire all the way. Bless you, they grudge 
me nothing. But as the time at which I am expected 
there, left me ample leisure, I determined to walk 
instead. How glad I am, to think I did so ! ” 

“How glad should we be ! ” 

“Yes, yes,” said the school-master, moving restlessly 
in his chair, “ certainly, that’s very true. But you — 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


201 


where aie you going, where are you coming from, what 
have you been doing since you left me, what had you 
been doing before ? Now, tell me — do tell me. I 
know very little of the world, and perhaps you are bet- 
ter fitted to advise me in its affairs than I am qualified 
to give advice to you ; but I am very sincere, and I have 
a reason (you have not forgotten it) for loving you. I 
have felt since that time as if my love for him who died, 
had been transferred to you who stood beside his bed. 
If this,” he added, looking upwards, “is the beautiful 
creation that springs from ashes, let its peace prosper 
with me, as I deal tenderly and compassionately by this 
young child ! ” 

The plain, frank kindness of the honest schoolmaster, 
the affectionate earnestness of his speech and manner, 
the truth which was stamped upon his every word and 
look, gave the child a confidence in him, which the ut- 
most arts of treachery and dissimulation could never 
have awakened in her breast. She told him all — that 
they had no friend or relative — that she had fled with 
the old man, to save him from a mad-house and all the 
miseries he dreaded — that she was flying now, to save 
him from himself — and that she sought an asylum in 
some remote and primitive place, where the temptation 
before which he fell would never enter, and her late sor- 
rows and distresses could have no place. 

The school-master heard her with astonishment. “This 
child!” he thought — “Has this child heroically perse- 
vered under all doubts and dangers, struggled with pov- 
erty and suffering, upheld and sustained by strong affec- 
tion and the consciousness of rectitude alone ! And yet 
the world is full of such heroism. Have I yet to learn 
that the hardest and best-borne trials are those which 


202 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


are never chronicled in any earthly record, and are suf- 
fered every day ! And should I be surprised to hear the 
story of this child ! ” 

What more he thought or said, matters not. It was 
concluded that Nell and her grandfather should accom- 
pany him to the village whither he was bound, and that 
he should endeavor to find them some humble occupation 
by which they could subsist. “ We shall be sure to suc- 
ceed,” said the school-master, heartily. “ The cause is 
too good a one to fail.” 

They arranged to proceed upon their journey next 
evening, as a stage-wagon, which travelled for some 
distance on the same road as they must take, would stop 
at the inn to change horses, and the driver for a small 
gratuity would give Nell a place inside. A bargain was 
soon struck when the wagon came ; and in due time it 
rolled away ; with the child comfortably bestowed among 
the softer packages, her grandfather and the school-mas- 
ter walking on beside the driver, and the landlady and 
all the good folks of the inn screaming out their good 
wishes and farewells. 

What a soothing, luxurious, drowsy way of travelling 
to lie inside that slowly-moving mountain, listening to 
the tinkling of the horses’ bells, the occasional smacking 
of the carter’s whip, the smooth rolling of the great 
broad wheels, the rattle of the harness, the cheery good- 
nights of passing travellers jogging past on little short- 
stepped horses — all made pleasantly indistinct by the 
thick awning, which seemed made for lazy listening 
under, till one fell asleep! The very going to sleep, still 
with an indistinct idea, as the head jogged to and fro 
upon the pillow, of moving onward with no trouble or 
fatigue, and hearing all these sounds like dreamy music, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


203 


lulling to the senses — and the slow waking up, and 
finding one’s self staring out through the breezy curtain 
half-opened in the front, far up into the cold bright sky 
with its countless stars, and downward at the driver’s 
lantern dancing on like its namesake Jack of the swamps 
and marshes, and sideways at the dark grim trees, and 
forward at the long bare road rising up, up, up, until it 
stopped abruptly at a sharp high ridge as if there were 
no more road, and all beyond was sky — and the stop- 
ping at the inn to bait, and being helped out, and going 
into a room with fire and candles, and winking very 
much, and being agreeably reminded that the night was 
cold, and anxious for very comfort’s sake to think it 
colder than it was ! — What a delicious journey was 
that journey in the wagon. 

Then the going on again — so fresh at first, and 
shortly afterwards so sleepy. The waking from a sound 
nap as the mail came dashing past like a highway com- 
et, with gleaming lamps and rattling hoofs, and visions 
of a guard behind, standing up to keep his feet warm, 
and of a gentleman in a fur cap opening his eyes and 
looking wild and stupefied — the stopping at the turn- 
pike where the man was gone to bed, and knocking at 
the door until he answered with a smothered shout from 
under the bedclothes in the little room above, where the 
faint light was burning, and presently came down, night- 
capped and shivering, to throw the gate wide open, and 
wish all wagons off the road, except by day. The cold 
sharp interval between night and morning — the distant 
streak of light widening and spreading, and turning 
from gray to white, and from white to yellow, and from 
yellow to burning red — the presence of day, with all its 
cheerfulness and life — men and horses at the plough — 


204 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


birds in the trees and hedges, and boys in solitary fields, 
frightening them away with rattles. The coming to a 
town — people busy in the market ; light carts and 
chaises round the tavern-yard; tradesmen standing at 
their doors ; men running horses up and down the stree* 
for sale ; pigs plunging and grunting in the dirty dis 
tanje, getting off with long strings at their legs, running 
into clean chemists’ shops and being dislodged with 
brooms by ’prentices ; the night-coach changing horses — 
the passengers cheerless, cold, ugly, and discontented, 
with three months’ growth of hair in one night — the 
coachman fresh as from a bandbox, and exquisitely beau- 
tiful by contrast : — so much bustle, so many things in 
motion, such a variety of incidents — when was there a 
journey with so many delights as that journey in the 
w r agon ! 

Sometimes walking for a mile or two while her grand- 
father rode inside, and sometimes even prevailing upon 
the school-master to take her place and lie down to rest, 
Nell travelled on very happily until they came to a large 
town, where the wagon stopped, and where they spent a 
night. They passed a large church ; and in the streets 
were a number of old houses, built of a kind of earth or 
plaster, crossed and recrossed in a great many directions 
with black beams, which gave them a remarkable and 
very ancient look. The doors, too, were arched and 
low, some with oaken portals and quaint benches, where 
the former inhabitants had sat on summer evenings 
The windows were latticed in little diamond panes, that 
seemed to wink and blink upon the passengers as if they 
were dim of sight. They had long since got clear of 
the smoke and furnaces, except in one or two solitary 
instances, where a factory planted among fields withered 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


205 


the space about it, like a burning mountain. When they 
had passed through this town, they entered again upon 
the country, and began to draw near their place of des- 
tination. 

It was not so near, however, but that they spent an- 
other night upon the road ; not that their doing so was 
quite an act of necessity, but that the school-master, when 
they approached within a few miles of his village, had a 
fidgety sense of his dignity as the new clerk, and was 
unwilling to make his entry in dusty shoes, and travel- 
disordered dress. It was a fine, clear, autumn morning, 
when they came upon the scene of his promotion, and 
stopped to contemplate its beauties. 

<k See — here’s the church ! ” cried the delighted school- 
master, in a low voice ; “ and that old building close be- 
side it, is the school-house, I’ll be sworn. Five-and-thirty 
pounds a year in this beautiful place ! ” 

They admired everything — the old gray porch, the 
mullioned windows, the venerable gravestones dotting the 
green church-yard, the ancient tower, the very weather- 
cock ; the brown thatched roofs of cottage, barn, and 
homestead, peeping from among the tree's ; the stream 
that rippled by the distant water-mill ; the blue Welsh 
mountains far away. It was for such a spot the child 
had wearied in the dense, dark, miserable haunts of 
labor. Upon her bed of ashes, and amidst the squalid 
horrors through which they had forced their way, visions 
of such scenes — beautiful indeed, but not more beauti- 
ful than this sweet reality — had been always present to 
her mind. They had seemed to melt into a dim and airy 
distance, as the prospect of ever beholding them again 
grew fainter ; but, as they receded, she had loved and 
panted for them more. 


206 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ 1 must leave you somewhere for a few minutes,” said 
the school-master, at length breaking the silence into which 
they had fallen in their gladness. u I have a letter to 
present, and inquiries to make, you know. Where shall 
I take you ? To the little inn yonder ? ” 

“ Let us wait here,” rejoined Nell. “ The gate is 
open. We will sit in the church-porch till you come 
back.” 

“ A good place too,” said the school -master, leading the 
way towards it, disencumbering himself of his portman- 
teau, and placing it on the stone seat. “ Be sure that I 
come back with good news, and am not long gone ? ” 

So, the happy school-master put on a bran-new pair of 
gloves which he had carried in a little parcel in his pocket 
all the way, and hurried off, full of ardor and excitement. 

The child watched him from the porch until the inter- 
vening foliage hid him from her view, and then stepped 
softly out into the old church-yard — so solemn and quiet 
that every rustle of her dress upon the fallen leaves, 
which strewed the path and made her footsteps noiseless, 
seemed an invasion of its silence. It was a very aged, 
ghostly place ; the church had been built many hundreds 
of years ago, and had once had a convent or monastery 
attached ; for arches in ruins, remains of oriel windows, 
and fragments of blackened walls, were yet standing; 
while other portions of the old building, which had 
crumbled away and fallen down, were mingled with the 
church-yard earth and overgrown with grass, as if they 
too claimed a burying-place and sought to mix their ashes 
with the dust of men. Hard by these gravestones of 
dead years, and forming a part of the ruin which some 
pains had been taken to render habitable in modern 
times, were two small dwellings with sunken windows 


TIIE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 207 

and oaken doors, fast hastening to decay, empty and 
desolate. 

Upon these tenements the attention of the child be- 
came exclusively riveted. She knew not why. The 
church, the ruin, the antiquated graves, had equal claims 
at least upon a stranger’s thoughts, but from the moment 
when her eyes first rested on these two dwellings, she 
could turn to nothing else. Even when she had made 
the circuit of the enclosure, and, returning to the porch, 
sat pensively waiting for their friend, she took her sta- 
tion where she could still look upon them, and felt as if 
fascinated towards that spot. 


\cu 

of 


208 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XL VII. 

Kit’s mother and the single gentleman — upon whose 
back it is expedient to follow with hurried steps, lest this 
history should be chargeable with inconstancy, and the 
offence of leaving its characters in situations of uncer- 
tainty and doubt — Kit’s mother and the single gentle- 
man, speeding onward in the post-chaise-and-four, whose 
departure from the Notary’s door we have already wit- 
nessed, soon left the town behind them, and struck fire 
from the flints of the broad highway. 

The good woman, being not a little embarrassed by 
the novelty of her situation, and certain maternal ap- 
prehensions that perhaps by this time little Jacob, or the 
baby, or both, had fallen into the fire, or tumbled down- 
stairs, or had been squeezed behind doors, or had scalded 
their windpipes in endeavoring to allay their thirst at the 
spouts of tea-kettles, preserved an uneasy silence; and 
meeting from the window the eyes of turnpike-men, 
omnibus-drivers, and others, felt in the new dignity of 
her position like a mourner at a funeral, who, not being 
greatly afflicted by the loss of the departed, recognizes 
his every-day acquaintance from the window of the 
mourning-coach, but is constrained to preserve a decent 
solemnity, and the appearance of being indifferent to all 
external objects. 

To haw^been indifferent to the companionship of the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


209 


single gentleman would have been tantamount to being 
gifted with nerves of steel. Never did chaise enclose, or 
horses draw, such a restless gentleman as he. He never 
sat in the same position for two minutes together, but 
was perpetually tossing his arms and legs about, pulling 
up the sashes and letting them violently down, or thrust- 
ing his head out of one window to draw it in again and 
thrust it out of another. He carried in his pocket, too, 
n fire-box of mysterious and unknown construction ; and 
as sure as ever Kit’s mother closed her eyes, so surely 

— whisk, rattle, fizz — there was the single gentleman 
consulting his watch by a flame of fire, and letting the 
sparks fall down among the straw as if there were no 
such thing as a possibility of himself and Kit’s mother 
being roasted alive before the boys could stop their 
horses. Whenever they halted to change, there he was 

— out of the carriage without letting down the steps, 
bursting about the inn-yard like a lighted cracker, pull- 
ing out his watch by lamplight and forgetting to look at 
it before he put it up again, and in short committing so 
many extravagances that Kit’s mother was quite afraid 
of him. Then, when the horses were to, in he came like 
a Harlequin, and before they had gone a mile, out came 
the watch and the fire-box together, and Kit’s mother 
was wide awake again, with no hope of a wink of sleep 
for that stage. 

‘ Are you comfortable ? ” the single gentleman would 
ray after one of these exploits, turning sharply round. 

“ Quite, sir, thank you.” 

“ Are you sure ? A’n’t you cold ? ” 

“ It is a little chilly, sir,” Kit’s mother would reply. 

“ I knew it ! ” cried the single gentleman, letting down 
one of the front glasses. “ She wants sqme brandy and 
von. ii. 14 


210 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


water ! Of course she does. How could I forget it ? 
Hallo ! Stop at the next inn, and call out for a glass of 
hot brandy and water.” 

It was in vain for Kit’s mother to protest that she 
stood in need of nothing of the kind. The single gentle- 
man was inexorable ; and whenever he had exhausted 
all other modes and fashions of restlessness, it invariably 
occurred to him that Kit’s mother wanted brandy and 
water. 

In this way they travelled on until near midnight, 
when they stopped to supper, for which meal the single 
gentleman ordered everything eatable that the house con- 
tained ; and because Kit’s mother didn’t eat everything 
at once, and eat it all, he took it into his head that she 
must be ill. 

“ You’re faint,” said the single gentleman, who did 
nothing himself but walk about the room. “ I see 
what’s the matter with you, ma’am. You’re faint.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I’m not indeed.” 

“ I know you are. I’m sure of it. I drag this poor 
woman from the bosom of her family at a minute’s no- 
tice, and she goes on getting fainter and fainter before 
my eyes. I’m a pretty fellow ! How many children 
have you got, ma’am ? ” 

“ Two sir, besides Kit.” 

“ Boys, ma’am ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ Are they christened ? ” 

“ Only half baptized as yet, sir.” 

“ I’m godfather to both of ’em. Remember that, if 
you please, ma’am. You had better have some mulled 
wine.” 

“ I coukj^ touch a drop indeed, sir.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


211 


“You must,” said the single gentleman. “I see you 
want it. I ought to have thought of it before.” 

Immediately flying to the bell, and calling for mulled 
wine as impetuously as if it had been wanted for instant 
use in the recovery of some person apparently drowned, 
the single gentleman made Kit’s mother swallow a bum- 
per of it at such a high temperature that the tears ran 
down her face, and then hustled her off to the chaise 
again, where — not impossibly from the effects of this 
agreeable sedative — she soon became insensible to his 
restlessness, and fell fast asleep. Nor were the happy 
effects of this prescription of a transitory nature, as, not- 
withstanding that the distance was greater, and the jour- 
ney longer, than the single gentleman had anticipated, 
she did not awake until it was broad day, and they were 
clattering over the pavement of a town. 

“ This is the place ! ” cried her companion, letting 
down all the glasses. “ Drive to the wax-work ! ” 

The boy on the wheeler touched his hat, and setting 
spurs to his horse, to tire end that they might go in brill- 
iantly, all four broke into a smart canter, and dashed 
through the streets with a noise that brought the good 
folks wondering to their doors and windows, and drowned 
the sober voices of the town-clocks as they chimed out 
half-past eight. They drove up to a door round which a 
crowd of persons were collected, and there stopped. 

“ What’s this ? ” said the single gentleman thrusting 
out his head. “ Is anything the matter here ? ” 

“ A wedding sir, a wedding ! ” cried several voices. 
‘ Hurrah ! ’* 

The single gentleman, rather bewildered by finding 
uimself the centre of this noisy throng, alighted with the 
assistance of one of the postilions, and handed out Kit’s 


212 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


mother, at sight of whom the populace cried out, “ Here's 
another wedding ! ” and roared and leaped for joy. 

“ The world has gone mad, I think,” said the single 
gentleman, pressing through the concourse with his sup- 
posed bride. “ Stand back here, will you, and let me 
knock.” 

Anything that makes a noise is satisfactory to a crowd 
A score of dirty hands were raised directly to knock for 
him, and seldom has a knocker of equal powers been 
made to produce more deafening sounds than this par- 
ticular engine on the occasion in question. Having 
rendered these voluntary services, the throng modestly 
retired a little, preferring that the single gentleman 
should bear their consequences alone. 

“ Now, sir, what do you want ? ” said a man with a 
large white bow at his button-hole, opening the door, 
and confronting him with a very stoical aspect. 

“ Who has been married here, my friend ? ” said the 
single gentleman. 

“ I have.” 

“ You ! and to whom in the devil’s name ? ” 

“ What right have you to ask ? ” returned the bride- 
groom, eying him from top to toe. 

44 What right ! ” cried the single gentleman, drawing 
the arm of Kit’s mother more tightly through his own, 
for that good woman evidently had it in contemplation to 
run away. 44 A right you little dream of. Mind, good 
people, if this fellow has been marrying a minor — tut, 
tut, that can’t be. Where is the child you have here, 
my good fellow. You call her Nell. Where is she ? ” 

As he propounded this question, which Kit’s mother 
echoed, somebody in a room near at hand, uttered a 
great shriek, and a stout lady in a white dress came run 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


213 


ning to the door, and supported herself upon the bride- 
groom’s arm. 

“ Where is she ! ” cried this lady. “ What news have 
you brought me ? What has become of her ? ” 

The single gentleman started back, and gazed upon 
the face of the late Mrs. Jarley (that morning wedded 
to the philosophic George, to the eternal wrath and de- 
spair of Mr. Slum the poet), with looks of conflicting ap- 
prehension, disappointment, and incredulity. At length 
he stammered out, — 

“ I ask you where she is ? What do you mean ? ” 

“ Oh sir ! ” cried the bride, “ If you have come here 
to do her any good, why weren’t you here a week ago ? ” 

“ She is not — not dead ? ” said the person to whom 
she addressed herself, turning very pale. 

“ No, not so bad as that.” 

“I thank God,” cried the single gentleman, feebly. 
“Let me come in.” 

They drew back to admit him, and when he had en- 
tered, closed the door. 

“ You see in me, good people,” he said, turning to the 
newly-married couple, “ one to whom life itself is not 
dearer than the two persons whom I seek. They would 
not know me. My features are strange to them, but if 
they or either of them are here, take this good woman 
with you, and let them see her first, for her they both 
know. If you deny them from any mistaken regard or 
fear for them, judge of my intentions by their recognition 
j( this person as their old humble friend.” 

“ I always said it ! ” cried the bride, “ I knew she 
was not a common child ! Alas, sir ! we have no power 
to help you, for all that we could do, has been tried in 
vain.” 


214 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


With that, they related to him, without disguise or 
concealment, all that they knew of Nell and her grand- 
father, from their first meeting with them, down to the 
time of their sudden disappearance ; adding (which was 
quite true) that they had made every possible effort to 
trace them, but without success ; having been at first in 
great alarm for their safety, as well as on account of the 
suspicions to which they themselves might one day be 
exposed in consequence of their abrupt departure. They 
dwelt upon the old man’s imbecility of mind, upon the 
uneasiness the child had always testified when he was 
absent, upon the company he had been supposed to keep, 
and upon the increased depression which had gradually 
crept over her and changed her both in health and 
spirits. Whether she had missed the old man in the 
night, and, knowing or conjecturing whither he had bent 
his steps, had gone in pursuit, or whether they had left 
the house together, they had no means of determining. 
Certain they considered it, that there was but slender 
prospect left of hearing of them again, and that whether 
their flight originated with the old man, or with the 
child, there was now no hope of their return. 

To all this, the single gentleman listened with the air 
of a man quite borne down by grief and disappointment. 
He shed tears when they spoke of the grandfather, and 
appeared in deep affliction. 

Not to protract this portion of our narrative, and to 
make short work of a long story, let it be briefly written 
that before the interview came to a close, the single 
gentleman deemed he had sufficient evidence of having 
been told the truth, and that he endeavored to force upon 
the bride and bridegroom an acknowledgment of their 
kindness to the unfriended child, which, however, they 


•% THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 215 

m 

steadily declined accepting. In the end, the happy 
couple jolted away in the caravan to spend their honey- 
moon in a country excursion ; and the single gentleman 
and Kit’s mother stood ruefully before their carriage- 
door. 

“ Where shall we drive you, sir ? ” said the post-boy. 

u You may drive me,” said the single gentleman, “ to 
the ” — He was not going to add “ inn,” but he added 
it for the sake of Kit’s mother ; and to the inn they 
went. 

Humors had already got abroad that the little girl 
who used to show the wax-work, was the child of great 
people who had been stolen from her parents in infancy, 
and had only just been traced. Opinion was divided 
whether she was the daughter of a prince, a duke, an 
earl, a viscount, or a baron, but all agreed upon the main 
fact, and that the single gentleman was her father ; and 
all bent forward to catch a glimpse, though it were only 
of the tip of his noble nose, as he rode away, despond- 
ing, in his four-horse chaise. 

What would he have given to know, and what sorrow 
would have been saved if he had only known, that at 
that moment both child and grandfather were seated in 
the old church-porch, patiently awaiting the school- 
mast 3r’s return ! 


216 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

Popular rumor concerning the single gentleman and 
his errand, travelling from mouth to mouth, and waxing 
stronger in the marvellous as it was bandied about — 
for your popular rumor, unlike the rolling stone of the 
proverb, is one which gathers a deal of moss in its wan- 
derings up and down, — occasioned his dismounting at 
the inn-door to be looked upon as an exciting and attrac- 
tive spectacle, which could scarcely be enough admired ; 
and drew together a large concourse of idlers, who hav- 
ing recently been, as it were, thrown out of employment 
by the closing of the wax-work, and the completion of 
the nuptial ceremonies, considered his arrival as little else 
than a special providence, and hailed it with demonstra- 
tions of the liveliest joy. 

Not at all participating in the general sensation, but 
wearing the depressed and wearied look of one who 
sought to meditate on his disappointment in silence and 
privacy, the single gentleman alighted, and handed out 
Kit’s mother with a gloomy politeness which impressed 
the lookers-on extremely. That done, he gave her his 
arm and escorted her into the house, while several active 
waiters ran on before as a skirmishing party, to clear the 
way and to show the room which was ready for their re- 
ception. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


217 


44 Any room will do,” said the single gentleman. “ Let 
it be near at hand, that’s all.” 

44 Close here, sir, if you please to walk this way.” 

44 Would the gentleman like this room ? ” said a voice, 
as a little out-of-the-way door at the foot of the well 
staircase flew briskly open and a head popped out. 
44 He’s quite welcome to it. He’s as welcome as flowers 
in May, or coals at Christmas. Would you like this room, 
sir? Honor me by walking in. Do me the favor, 
pray.” 

44 Goodness gracious me ! ” cried Kit’s mother, falling 
back in extreme surprise, 44 only think of this ! ” 

She had some reason to be astonished, for the person 
who proffered the gracious invitation was no other than 
Daniel Quilp. The little door out of which he had 
thrust his head was close to the inn larder ; and there he 
stood, bowing with grotesque politeness ; as much at his 
ease as if the door were that of his own house ; blighting 
all the legs of mutton and cold roast fowls by his close 
companionship, and looking like the evil genius of the 
cellars come from underground upon some work of mis- 
chief. 

“ Would you do me the honor ? ” said Quilp. 

44 I prefer being alone,” replied the single gentleman. 

44 Oh ! ” said Quilp. And with that, he darted in 
again with one jerk and clapped the little door to, like a 
figure in a Dutch clock when the hour strikes. 

44 Why, it was only last night, sir,” whispered Kit’s 
mother, 44 that I left him in Little Bethel.” 

44 Indeed ! ” said her fellow-passenger. 44 When did 
that person come here, waiter?” 

44 Come down by the night-coach, this morning, sir.” 

44 Humph ! And when is h 2 going ? ” 


218 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Can’t say, sir, really. When the chamber-maid askeu 
him just now if he should want a bed, sir, he first made 
faces at her, and then wanted to kiss her.” 

“ Beg him to walk this way,” said the single gentle- 
man. “I should be glad to exchange a word with 
him, tell him. Beg him to come at once, do you 
hear?” 

The man stared on receiving these instructions, for the 
single gentleman had not only displayed as much aston- 
ishment as Kit’s mother at sight of the dwarf, but, stand- 
ing in no fear of him, had been at less pains to conceal 
his dislike and repugnance. He departed on his errand, 
however, and immediately returned, ushering in its ob- 
ject. 

“ Your servant, sir,” said the dwarf. “ I encountered 
your messenger half-way. I thought you’d allow me to 
pay my compliments to you. I hope you’re well. I 
hope you’re very well.” 

There was a short pause, while the dwarf, with half- 
shut eyes and puckered face, stood waiting for an answer. 
Receiving none, he turned towards his more familiar ac- 
quaintance. 

“ Christopher’s mother ! ” he cried. “ Such a dear 
lady, such a worthy woman, so blest in her honest son ! 
How is Christopher’s mother ? Have change of air and 
Beene improved her ? Her little family too, and Chris- 
topher ? Do they thrive ? Do they flourish ? Are 
they growing into worthy citizens, eh ? ” 

Making his voice ascend in the scale with every suc- 
ceeding question, Mr. Quilp finished in a shrill squeak, 
and subsided into the panting look which was custom- 
ary with him, and which whether it were assumed or 
natural, had equally the effect of banishing all expression 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 219 

from his face, and rendering it, as far as it afforded any 
index to his mood or meaning, a perfect blank. 

“ Mr. Quilp,” said the single gentleman. 

The dwarf put his hand to his great flapped ear, and 
counterfeited the closest attention. 

“We too have met before ” — 

“ Surely,” cried Quilp, nodding his head. “ Oh sure' 
ly, sir. Such an honor and pleasure — it’s both, Chris- 
topher’s mother, it’s both — is not to be forgotten so 
soon. By no means ! ” 

“ You may remember that the day I arrived in Lon- 
don, and found the house to which I drove, empty and 
deserted, I was directed by some of the neighbors to you, 
and waited upon you without stopping for rest or refresh- 
ment ? ” 

“ How precipitate that was, and yet what an earnest 
and vigorous measure ! ” said Quilp, conferring with him- 
self, in imitation of his friend Mr. Sampson Brass. 

“ I found,” said the single gentleman, “ you most unac- 
countably, in possession of everything that had so recent- 
ly belonged to another man, and that other man, who up 
to the time of your entering upon his property had been 
looked upon as affluent, reduced to sudden beggary, and 
driven from house and home.” 

“We had warrant for what we did, my good sir,” re- 
joined' Quilp, “ we had our warrant. Don’t say driven 
either. He went of his own accord — vanished in the 
night, sir.” 

t ' No matter,” said the single gentleman angrily. “ Ho 
was gone.” 

“Yes, he was gone,” said Quilp, with the same exas- 
perating composure. “ No doubt he was gone. The 
only question was, where. And it’s a question still.” 


220 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Now, what am I to think,” said the single gentle- 
man, sternly regarding him, “ of you, who, plainly indis- 
posed to give me any information then — nay, obviously 
holding back, and sheltering yourself with all kinds of 
cunning, trickery, and evasion, — are dogging my foot- 
steps now ? ” 

“ I dogging ! ” cried Quilp. 

“ Why, are you not ? ” returned his questioner, fretted 
into a state of the utmost irritation. “ Were you not a 
few 1 lours since, sixty miles off, and in the chapel to 
which this good woman goes to say her prayers?” 

“ She was there too, I think ? ” said Quilp, still per- 
fectly unmoved. '* I might say, if I was inclined to be 
rude, how do I know but you are dogging my footsteps. 
Yes, I was at chapel. What then ? I’ve read in books 
that pilgrims were used to go to chapel before they went 
on journeys, to put up petitions for their safe return. 
Wise men ! journeys are very perilous — especially out- 
side the coach. Wheels come off, horses take fright, 
coachmen drive too fast, coaches overturn. I always go 
to chapel before I start on journeys. It’s the last thing 
I do on such occasions, indeed.” 

That Quilp lied most heartily in this speech, it needed 
no very great penetration to discover, although for any- 
thing that he suffered to appear in his face, voice, or 
manner, he might have been clinging to the truth with 
the quiet constancy of a martyr. 

“ In the name of all that’s calculated to drke one 
crazy, man,” said the unfortunate single gentleman, 
“ have you not, for some reason of your own, taken upon 
/ourself my errand ? don’t you know with what object J 
have come here, and if you do know, can you throw no 
light upon it ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


221 


“ You think Fm a conjurer, sir,” replied Quilp, shrug- 
ging up his shoulders. “ If I was, I should tell my own 
fortune — and make it.” 

“ Ah ! we have said all we need say, I see,” returned 
the other, throwing himself impatiently upon a sofa. 
“ Pray leave us, if you please.” 

“ Willingly,” returned Quilp. “ Most willingly. Chris- 
topher's mother, my good soul, farewell. A pleasant 
journey — back , sir. Ahem ! ” 

With these parting words, and with a grin upon his 
features altogether indescribable, but which seemed to be 
compounded of every monstrous grimace of which men 
or monkeys are capable, the dwarf slowly retreated and 
closed the door behind him. 

“ Oho ! ” he said when he had regained his own room, 
and sat himself down in a chair with his arms a-kimbo. 
“ Oho ! Are you there, my friend ? In-deed ! ” 

Chuckling as though in very great glee, and recom- 
pensing himself for the restraint he had lately put upon 
his countenance by twisting it into all imaginable varie- 
ties of ugliness, Mr. Quilp, rocking himself to and fro in 
his chair and nursing liis left leg at the same time, fell 
into certain meditations, of which it may be necessary 
to relate the substance. 

First, he reviewed the circumstances which had led to 
his repairing to that spot, which were briefly these. 
Dropping in at Mr. Sampson Brass’s office on the pre* 
vious evening, in the absence of that gentleman and his 
learned sister, he had lighted upon Mr. Swiveller, who 
chanced at the moment to be sprinkling a glass of warm 
gin and water on the dust of the law, and to be moisten- 
ing his clay, as the phrase goes, rather copiously. But 
is clay in the abstract, when too much moistened, be- 


222 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


comes of a weak and uncertain consistency, breaking 
down in unexpected places, retaining impressions but 
faintly, and preserving no strength or steadiness of char- 
acter, so Mr. Swiveller’s clay, having imbibed a consid- 
erable quantity of moisture, was in a very loose and 
slippery state, insomuch that the various ideas impressed 
upon it were fast losing their distinctive character, and 
running into each other. It is not uncommon for human 
clay in this condition to value itself above all things upon 
its great prudence and sagacity ; and Mr. Swiveller, es- 
pecially prizing himself upon these qualities, took occa- 
sion to remark that he had made strange discoveries, in 
connection with the single gentleman who lodged above, 
which he had determined to keep within his own bosom, 
and which neither tortures nor cajolery should ever in- 
duce him to reveal. Of this determination Mr. Quilp 
expressed his high approval, and setting himself in the 
same breath to goad Mr. Swiveller on to further hints, 
soon made out that the single gentleman had been seen 
in communication with Kit, and that this was the secret 
which was never to be disclosed. 

Possessed of this piece of information, Mr. Quilp di- 
rectly supposed that the single gentleman above stairs 
must be the same individual who had waited on him, and 
having assured himself by further inquiries that this sur- 
mise was correct, had no difficulty in arriving at the con- 
clusion that the intent and object of his correspondence 
with Kit was the recovery of his old client and the child. 
Burning with curiosity to know what proceedings were 
afoot, he resolved to pounce upon Kit’s mother as the 
person least able to resist'his arts, and consequently the 
most likely to be entrapped into such revelations as he 
sought ; so taking an abrupt leave of Mr. Swiveller, he 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


223 


hurried to her house. The good woman being from 
home, he made inquiries of a neighbor, as Kit himself 
did soon afterwards, and being directed to the chapel 
betook himself there, in order to waylay her, at, the con- 
clusion of the service. 

He had not sat in the chapel more than a quarter of 
an hour, and with his eyes piously iixed upon the ceiling 
was chuckling inwardly over the joke of his being there 
at all, when Kit himself appeared. Watchful as a lynx, 
one glance showed the dwarf that he had come on busi- 
ness. Absorbed in appearance, as we have seen, and 
feigning a profound abstraction, he noted every circum- 
stance of his behavior, and when he withdrew with his 
family, shot out after him. In fine, he traced them to 
the notary’s house ; learnt the destination of the carriage 
from one of the postilions ; and knowing that a fast 
niglit-coach started for the same place, at the very hour 
which was on the point of striking, from a street hard 
by, darted round to the coach-office without more ado, 
and took his seat upon the roof. After passing and re- 
passing the carriage on the road, and being passed and 
repassed by it sundry times in the course of the night, 
according as their stoppages were longer or shorter, or 
their rate of travelling varied, they reached the town 
almost together. Quilp kept the chaise in sight, mingled 
with the crowd, learnt the single gentleman’s errand and 
its failure, and having possessed himself of all that it 
was material to know, hurried off, reached the inn before 
him, had the interview just now detailed, and shut him- 
self up in the little room in which he hastily reviewed 
all these occurrences. 

u You are there, are you, my friend ? ” he repeated, 
greedily biting his nails. “ I am suspected and thrown 


224 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


aside, and Kit’s the confidential agent, is he ? I shall 
have to dispose of him, I fear. If we had come up with 
them this morning,” he continued, after a thoughtful 
pause, “ I was ready to prove a pretty good claim. I 
could have made my profit. But for these canting hyp- 
ocrites, the lad and his mother, I could get this fiery 
gentleman as comfortable into my net as our old friend 
— our mutual friend, ha ! ha ! — and chubby, rosy Nell. 
At the worst it’s a golden opportunity, not to be lost. 
Let us find them first, and I’ll find means of draining 
you of some of your superfluous cash, sir, while there 
are prison bars and bolts, and locks, to keep your friend 
or kinsman safely. I hate your virtuous people ! ” said 
the dwarf, throwing off a bumper of brandy, and smack- 
ing his lips, “ ah ! I hate ’em every one ! ” 

This was not a mere empty vaunt, but a deliberate 
avowal of his real sentiments ; for Mr. Quilp, who loved 
nobody, had by little and little come to hate everybody, 
nearly or remotely connected with his ruined client : — 
the old man himself, because he had been able to deceive 
him and elude his vigilance — the child, because she was 
the object of Mrs, Quilp’s commiseration and constant 
self-reproach — the single gentleman, because of his un- 
concealed aversion to himself — Kit and his mother, 
most mortally, for the reasons already shown. Above 
and beyond that general feeling of opposition to them, 
which would have been inseparable from his ravenous 
desire to enrich himself by these altered circumstances, 
Daniel Quilp hated them every one. 

In thia^amiable mood, Mr. Quilp enlivened himself 
and his hatreds with more brandy, and then, changing 
his quarters, withdrew to an obscure ale-house, under 
cover of which seclusion he instituted all possible inqui- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


225 


ries that might lead to the discovery of the old man and 
his grandchild. But all was in vain. Not the slightest 
trace or clue could be obtained. They had left the town 
by night ; no one had seen them go ; no one had met 
them on the road ; the driver of no coach, cart, or wag- 
on, lnd seen any travellers answering their description ; 
nobody had fallen in with them or heard of them. Con- 
vinced at last that for the present all such attempts were 
hopeless, he appointed two or three scouts, with promises 
of large rewards in case of their forwarding him any 
intelligence, and returned to London by next day’s 
coach. 

It was some gratification to Mr. Quilp to find, as he 
took his place upon the roof, that Kit’s mother was alone 
inside ; from which circumstance he derived in the course 
of the journey much cheerfulness of spirit, inasmuch as 
her solitary condition enabled him to terrify her with 
many extraordinary annoyances ; such as hanging over 
the side of the coach at the risk of his life, and staring 
in with his great goggle eyes, which seemed in hers the 
more horrible from his face being upside down ; dodging 
her in this way from one window to another ; getting 
nimbly down whenever they changed horses and thrust- 
ing his head in at the window with a dismal squint : 
which ingenious tortures had such an effect upon Mrs 
Nubbles, that she was quite unable for the time to resist 
the belief that Mr. Quilp did in his own person represent 
and embody that Evil Power, who was so vigorously 
attacked at Little Bethel, and who, by reason of her 
backslidings in respect of Astley’s and oysters, was now 
frolicsome and rampant. 

Kit, having been apprised by letter of his mother’s 
intended return, was waiting for her at the coach-office , 
VOL. II. 15 


226 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


and great was his surprise when he saw, leering over 
the coachman’s shoulder like some familiar demon, 
invisible to all eyes but liis, the well-known face of 
Quilp. 

“ How are you, Christopher ? ” croaked the dwarf 
from the coach-top. “ All right, Christopher. Mother’s 
inside.” 

“ Why, how did he come here, mother ? ” whispered 
Kit. 

“ I don’t know how he came or why, my dear,” re- 
joined Mrs. Nubbles, dismounting with her son’s assist- 
ance, “ but he has been a-terrifying of me ouf of my 
seven senses all this blessed day.” 

“ He has ? ” cried Kit. 

“ You wouldn’t believe it, that you wouldn’t,” replied 
his mother, “ but don’t say a word to him, for I really 
don’t believe he’s human. Hush ! Don’t turn round 
as if I was talking of him, but he’s a-squinting at me 
now in the full blaze of the coach-lamp, quite awful ! ” 

In spite of his mother’s injunction, Kit turned sharply 
round to look. Mr. Quilp was serenely gazing at the 
stars, quite absorbed in celestial contemplation. 

“ Oh, he’s the artfullest creetur ! ” cried Mrs. Nub- 
bles. “ But come away. Don’t speak to him for the 

world.” 

“Yes I will, mother. What nonsense. I say, sir” — 

Mr. Quilp affected to start, and looked smilingly 
round. 

“ You let my mother alone, will you ? ” said Kit. 

“ How dare you tease a poor lone woman like her, 

making her miserable and melancholy as if she hadn’t 
got enough to make her so, without you. A’n’t you 
ashamed of yourself, you little monster ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


227 


“ Monster ! ” said Quilp inwardly, with a smile. “ Ug- 
liest dwarf that could be seen anywhere for a penny — 
monster — ah ! ” 

“ You show her any of your impudence again,” re- 
sumed Kit, shouldering the bandbox, “ and I tell you 
what, Mr. Quilp, I won’t bear with you any more 
You have no right to do it; I’m sure we never inter- 
fered with you. This isn’t the first time; and if ever 
you worry or frighten her again, you’ll oblige me (though 
1 should be very sorry to do it, on account of your 
size) to beat you.” 

Quilp said not a word in reply, but walking up so 
close to Kit as to bring his eyes within two or three 
inches of his face, looked fixedly at him, retreated a 
little distance without averting his gaze, approached 
again, again withdrew, and so on for half a dozen times, 
like a head in a phantasmagoria. Kit stood his ground 
as if in expectation of an immediate assault, but find- 
ing that nothing came of these gestures, snapped his 
fingers and walked away ; his mother dragging him off 
as fast as she could, and, even in the midst of his news 
of little Jacob and the baby, looking anxiously over hei 
shoulder to see if Quilp were following 


228 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 

Kit’s mother might have spared herself the trouble 
of looking back so often, for nothing was further from 
Mr. Quilp’s thoughts than any intention of pursuing her 
and her son, or renewing the quarrel with which they 
had parted. He went his way, whistling from time to 
time some fragments of a tune ; and, with a face quite 
tranquil and composed, jogged pleasantly towards home ; 
entertaining himself as he went with visions of the fears 
and terrors of Mrs. Quilp, who having received no in- 
telligence of him for three whole days and two nights, 
and having had no previous notice of his absence, was 
doubtless by that time in a state of distraction, and con- 
stantly fainting away with anxiety and grief. 

This facetious probability was so congenial to the 
dwarf’s humor, and so exquisitely amusing to him, that 
he laughed as he went along until the tears ran down 
his cheeks; and more than once, 'when he found him- 
self in a by street, vented his delight in a shrill scream, 
which greatly terrifying any lonely passenger, who hap- 
pened to be walking on before him expecting nothing 
bo little, increased his mirth, and made him remarkably 
cheerful and light-hearted. 

In this happy flow of spirits Mr. Quilp reached Tower 
Hill, when, gazing up at the window of his own sitting- 
room, he thought he descried more light than is usual 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


229 


in a house of mourning. Drawing nearer, and listen- 
ing attentively, he could hear several voices in earnest 
conversation, among which he could distinguish, not only 
those of his wife and mother-in-law, but the tongues of 

men. 

“ Ha ! ” cried the jealous dwarf. “ What’s this ! Do 
they entertain such visitors while I’m away ! ” 

A smothered cough from above, was the reply. He 
felt in his pockets for his latch-key, but had forgotten 
it. There was no resource but to knock at the door. 

“ A light in the passage,” said Quilp, peeping through 
the key-hole. “ A very soft knock ; and, by your leave, 
my lady, I may yet steal upon you unawares. Soho ! ” 

A very low and gentle rap, received no answer from 
within. But after a second application to the knocker, 
no louder than the first, the door was softly opened by 
the boy from the wharf, whom Quilp instantly gagged 
with one hand, and dragged into the street with the 
other. 

“ You’ll throttle me, master,” whispered the boy. 
“Let go, will you.” 

“ Who’s up-stairs, you dog ? ” retorted Quilp in the 
same tone. “ Tell me. And don’t speak above your 
breath, or I’ll choke you in good earnest.” 

The boy could only point to the window, and reply 
with a stifled giggle, expressive of such intense enjoy- 
ment, that Quilp clutched him by the throat again, and 
might have carried his threat into execution, or at least 
have made very good progress towards that end, but 
for the boy’s nimbly extricating himself from his grasp, 
find fortifying himself behind the nearest post, at which, 
After some fruitless attempts to catch him by the hair 
*f his head, his master was obliged to come to a parley. 


230 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

“ Will you answer me? ” said Quilp. “ What’s going 
on, above ? ” 

“ You won’t let one speak,” replied the boy. “ They 
— ha, ha, ha ! — they think you’re — you’re dead. Ha, 
ha, ha ! ” 

“ Dead ! ” cried Quilp, relaxing into a grim laugh 
himself. “No. Do they ? Do they really, you dog?” 

“ They think you’re — you’re drowned,” replied the 
boy, who in his malicious nature had a strong infu- 
sion of his master. “ You was last seen on the brink 
of the wharf, and they think you tumbled over. Ha, 
ha!” 

The prospect of playing the spy under such delicious 
circumstances, and of disappointing them all by walk- 
ing in alive, gave more delight to Quilp than the 
greatest stroke of good fortune could possibly have in- 
spired him with. He was no less tickled than his hope- 
ful assistant, and they both stood for some seconds, 
grinning and gasping, and wagging their heads at each 
other, on either side of the post, like an unmatchable 
pair of Chinese idols. 

“ Not a word,” said Quilp, making towards the door 
on tiptoe. “ Not a sound, not so much as a creaking 
board, or a stumble against a cobweb. Drowned, eh, 
Mrs. Quilp ? Drowned ! ” 

So saying, he blew out the candle, kicked off his 
fchoes, and groped his way up-stairs ; leaving his de- 
lighted young friend in an ecstasy of Somersets on the 
pavement. 

The bedroom-door on the staircase being unlocked, 
Mr. Quilp slipped in, and planted himself behind the 
door of communication between that chamber and the 
sitting-room, which standing ajar to render both more 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


231 


airy, and having a very convenient chink (of which 
he had often availed himself for purposes of espial, 
and had indeed enlarged with his pocket-knife), enabled 
him not only to hear, but to see distinctly, what was 
passing. 

Applying his eye to this convenient place, he descried 
Mr. Brass seated at the table with pen, ink, and paper, 
and the case-bottle of rum — his own case-bottle, and 
his own particular Jamaica — convenient to his hand ; 
with hot water, fragrant lemons, white lump sugar, and 
all things fitting ; from which choice materials, Samp- 
son, by no means insensible to their claims upon his 
attention, had compounded a mighty glass of punch reek- 
ing hot; which he was at that very moment stirring up 
with a teaspoon, and contemplating with looks in which 
a faint assumption of sentimental regret, struggled but 
weakly with a bland and comfortable joy. At the same 
table, with both her elbows upon it, was Mrs. Jiniwin ; 
no longer sipping other people’s punch feloniously with 
teaspoons, but taking deep draughts from a jorum of 
her own ; while her daughter — not exactly with ashes 
on her head, or sackcloth on her back, but preserving 
a very decent and becoming appearance of sorrow never- 
theless — was reclining in an easy-chair, and soothing' 
her grief with a smaller allowance of the same glib 
liquid. There were also present, a couple of water-side 
men, bearing between them certain machines called 
drags; even these fellows were accommodated with a 
stiff glass apiece; and as they drank with a great 
relish, and were naturally of a red-nosed, pimpled-faced, 
convivial look, their presence rather increased than de- 
tracted from that decided appearance of comfort, which 
was the great characteristic of the party 


232 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ If I could poison that dear old lady’s rum and 
water,” murmured Quilp, 44 I’d die happy.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Mr. Brass, breaking the silence, and rais- 
ing his eyes to the ceiling with a sigh, 44 who knows but 
he may be looking down upon us now ! Who knows 
but he may be surveying of us from — from somewheres 
or another, and contemplating us with a watchful eye ! 
Oh Lor!” 

Here Mr. Brass stopped to drink half his punch, and 
then resumed ; looking at the other half, as he spoke, 
with a dejected smile. 

44 I can almost fancy,” said the lawyer, shaking his 
head, 44 that I see his eye glistening down at the very 
bottom of my liquor. When shall we look upon his like 
again ? Never, never ! One minute we are here ” — 
holding his tumbler before his eyes — 44 the next we are 
there ” — gulping down its contents, and striking himself 
emphatically a little below the chest — 44 in the silent 
tomb. To think that I should be drinking his very rum ! 
It seems like a dream.” 

With the view, no doubt, of testing the reality of his 
position, Mr. Brass pushed his tumbler as he spoke 
towards Mrs. Jiniwin for the purpose of being replen- 
ished ; and turned towards the attendant mariners. 

44 The search has been quite unsuccessful then ? ” 

44 Quite, master. But I should say that if he turns up 
anywhere, he’ll come ashore somewhere about Grinidge 
to-morrow, at ebb-tide, eh, mate ? ” 

The other gentleman assented, observing that he was 
expected at the Hospital, and that several pensioners 
would be ready to receive him whenever he arrived. 

44 Then we have nothing for it but resignation,” said 
Mr. Brass ; 44 nothing but resignation, and expectation. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


233 


It would be a comfort to have his body ; it would be a 
dreary comfort.” 

“ Oh, beyond a doubt,” assented Mrs. Jiniwin hastily ; 
“ if we once had that, we should be quite sure.” 

“ With regard to the descriptive advertisement,” said 
Sampson Brass, taking up his pen. “ It is a melan- 
choly pleasure to recall his traits. Respecting his legs 
now ? ” 

“ Crooked certainly,” said Mrs. Jiniwin. 

“ Do you think they were crooked ? ” said Brass, in an 
insinuating tone. “ I think I see them now coming up 
the street very wide apart, in nankeen pantaloons a little 
shrunk and without straps. Ah ! what a vale of tears 
we live in. Do we say crooked ? ” 

“ I think they were a little so,” observed Mrs. Quilp, 
with a sob. 

“ Legs crooked,” said Brass, writing as he spoke. 
“ Large head, short body, legs crooked ” — 

“ Very crooked,” suggested Mrs. Jiniwin. 

“ We’ll not say very crooked, ma’am,” said Brass 
piously. “ Let us not bear hard upon the weaknesses of 
the deceased. He is gone, ma’am, to where his legs will 
never ccgne in question. — We will content ourselves 
with crooked, Mrs. Jiniwin.” 

“ I thought you wanted the truth,” said the old lady, 
“ That’s all.” 

“ Bless your eyes, how I love you,” muttered Quilp, 
u There she goes again. Nothing but punch ! ” 

“ This is an occupation,” said the lawyer, laying down 
his pen and emptying his glass, “ which seems to bring 
him before my eyes like the Ghost of Hamlet’s father, 
tn the very clothes that he wore on work-a-days. His 
coat, his waistcoat, his shoes and stockings, his trousers, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


234 

his hat, his wit and humor, his pathos and his umbrella, 
all come before me like visions of my youth. His lin- 
en ! ” said Mr. Brass, smiling fondly at the wall, “ his 
linen which was always of a particular color, for such was 
his whim and fancy — how plain I see his linen now ! ” 

“ You had better go on, sir,” said Mrs. Jiniwin impa- 
tiently. 

“ True, ma’am, true,” cried Mr. Brass. “ Our facul- 
ties must not freeze with grief. I’ll trouble you for a 
little more of that, ma’am. A question now arises, with 
relation to his nose.” 

“ Flat,” said Mrs. Jiniwin. 

“ Aquiline ! ” cried Quilp, thrusting in his head, and 
striking the feature with his fist. “ Aquiline, you hag. 
Do you see it ? Do you call this flat ? Do you ? 
Eh?” 

“ Oh capital, capital ! ” shouted Brass, from the mere 
force of habit. “ Excellent ! How very good he is ! 
He’s a most remarkable man — so extremely whimsical ! 
Such an amazing power of taking people by surprise ! ” 

Quilp paid no regard whatever to these compliments, 
nor to the dubious and frightened look into which the 
lawyer gradually subsided, nor to the shrieks <of his wife 
and mother-in-law, nor to the latter’s running from the 
room, nor to the former’s fainting away. Keeping his 
eye fixed on Sampson Brass, he walked up to the table, 
and beginning with his glass, drank off the contents, and 
went regularly round until he had emptied the other two, 
when he seized the case-bottle, and hugging it under his 
arm, surveyed him with a most extraordinary leer. 

“ Not yet, Sampson,” said Quilp. “ Not just yet ! ” 

“ Oh, very good indeed ! ” cried Brass, recovering his 
spirits a little. “ Ha, ha, ha ! Oh, exceedingly good ! 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


235 


There’s not another man alive who could carry it off 
like that. A most difficult position to carry off. But he 
has such a flow of good-humor, such an amazing flow ! ” 

“ Good-night,” said the dwarf, nodding expressively. 

“ Good-night sir, good-night,” cried the lawyer, re 
treating backwards towards the door. “This is a joy* 
ful occasion indeed, extremely joyful. Ha, ha, ha ! oh, 
very rich, very rich indeed, re-markably so ! ” 

Waiting until Mr. Brass’s ejaculations died away in 
the distance (for he continued to pour them out, all the 
way down-stairs), Quilp advanced towards the two men, 
who yet lingered in a kind of stupid amazement. 

“ Have you been dragging the river all day, gentle- 
men ? ” said the dwarf, holding the door open with great 
politeness. 

“ And yesterday too, master.” 

“ Dear me you’ve had a deal of trouble. Pray con- 
sider everything yours that you find upon the — upon 
the body. Good-night ! ” 

The men looked at each other, but had evidently no 
inclination to argue the point just then, and shuffled out 
of the room. This speedy clearance effected, Quilp 
locked the doors ; and, still embracing the case-bottle 
witli shrugged-up shoulders and folded arms, stood look* 
ing at his insensible wife like a dismounted nightmare. 


236 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER L. 

Matrimonial differences are usually discussed by 
the parties concerned in the form of dialogue, in which 
the lady bears at least her full half share. Those of 
Mr. and Mrs. Quilp, however, were an exception to the 
general rule ; the remarks which they occasioned being 
limited to a long soliloquy on the part of the gentleman, 
with perhaps a few deprecatory observations from the 
lady, not extending beyond a trembling monosyllable 
uttered at long intervals, and in a very submissive and 
humble tone. On the present occasion, Mrs. Quilp did 
not for a long time venture even on this gentle defence, 
but, when she had recovered from her fainting-fit, sat in 
a tearful silence, meekly listening to the reproaches of 
her lord and master. 

Of these Mr. Quilp delivered himself with the utmost 
animation and rapidity, and with so many distortions of 
limb and feature, that even his wife, though tolerably 
well accustomed to his proficiency in these respects, was 
well-nigh beside herself with alarm. But the Jamaica 
rum, and the joy of having occasioned a heavy dis 
appointment, by degrees cooled Mr. Quilp’s wrath ; 
which, from being at savage heat, dropped slowly to 
the bantering or chuckling point, at which it steadily 
remained. 

“ So you thought I was dead and gone, did you ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


237 


Baid Quilp. “You thought you were a widow, eh? 
Ha, ha, ha, you jade ! ” 

“Indeed, Quilp,” returned his wife. “I’m very sor- 
ry” — 

“ Who doubts it ! ” cried the dwarf. “ You very 
sorry ! to be sure you are. Who doubts that you’re very 
sorry ! ” 

“ I don’t mean sorry that you have come home again 
alive and well,” said his wife, “ but sorry that I should 
have been led into such a belief. I am glad to see you 
Quilp ; indeed I am.” 

In truth Mrs. Quilp did seem a great deal more glad to 
behold her lord than might have been expected, and did 
evince a degree of interest in his safety which, all things 
considered, was rather unaccountable. Upon Quilp, 
however, this circumstance made no impression, further 
than as it moved him to snap his fingers close to his 
wife’s eyes, with divers grins of triumph and derision. 

“ How could you go away so long, without saying a 
word to me or letting me hear of you or know anything 
about you ? ” asked the poor little woman, sobbing. 
“ How could you be so cruel, Quilp ? ” 

“ How could I be so cruel ! cruel ! ” cried the dwarf. 
“ Because I was in the humor. I’m in the humor now. 
I shall be cruel when I like. I’m going away again.” 

“ Not again ! ” 

“ Yes, again. I’m going away now. I’m off directly. 
1 mean to go and live wherever the fancy seizes me — 
at the wharf — at the counting-house — and be a jolly 
bachelor. You were a widow in anticipation. Damme,” 
Bcreamed the dwarf, “ I’ll be a bachelor in earnest.” 

“ You can’t be serious, Quilp,” sobbed his wife. 

“I tell you,” said the dwarf, exulting in his project, 


'238 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ that I’ll be a bachelor, a devil-may-care bachelor ; and 
I’ll have my bachelor’s hall at the counting-house, and at 
such times come near it if you dare. And mind too that 
I don’t pounce in upon you at unseasonable hours again, 
for I’ll be a spy upon you, and come and go like a mole 
or a weasel. Tom Scott — where’s Tom Scott ? ” 

“ Here I am, master,” cried the voice of the boy, as 
Quilp threw” up the window. 

u Wait there, you dog,” returned the dwarf, “ to carry 
a bachelor’s portmanteau. Pack it up, Mrs. Quilp. 
Knock up the dear old lady to help ; knock her up. 
Hallo there ! Hallo ! ” 

With these exclamations, Mr. Quilp caught up the 
poker, and hurrying to the door of the good lady’s sleep- 
ing-closet, beat upon it therewith until she awoke in in- 
expressible terror, thinking that her amiable son-in-law 
surely intended to murder her in justification of the legs 
she had slandered. Impressed with this idea, she was 
no sooner fairly awake than she screamed violently, and 
would have quickly precipitated herself out of the win- 
dow and through a neighboring sky-light, if her daugh- 
ter had not hastened in to undeceive her, and implore 
her assistance. Somewhat reassured by her account of 
the service she was required to render, Mrs. Jiniwin 
made her appearance in a flannel dressing-gowm ; and 
both mother and daughter, trembling with terror and 
cold — for the night was now far advanced — obeyed 
Mr. Quilp’s directions in submissive silence. Prolong 
ing his preparations as much as possible, for their greater 
comfort, that eccentric gentleman superintended the 
packing of his wardrobe, and, having added to it with 
his own hands, a plate, knife and fork, spoon, teacup 
and saucer, and other small household matters of that 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


239 


nature, strapped up the portmanteau, took it on his 
shoulders, and actually marched off without another 
word, and with the case-bottle (which he had never 
once put down) still tightly clasped under his arm. 
Consigning his heavier burden to the care of Tom 
Scott when he reached the street, taking a dram from 
the bottle for his own encouragement, and giving the boy 
a rap on the head with it as a small taste for himself, 
Quilp very deliberately led the way to the wharf, and 
reached it at between three and four o’clock in the 
morning. 

“ Snug ! ” said Quilp, when he had groped his way to 
the wooden counting-house, and opened the door with a 
key he carried about with him. “ Beautifully snug ! 
Call me at eight, you dog.” 

With no more formal leave-taking or explanation, he 
clutched the portmanteau, shut the door on his attendant, 
and climbing on the desk, and rolling himself up as 
round as a hedgehog, in an old boat-cloak, fell fast 
asleep. 

Being roused in the morning at the appointed time, 
and roused with difficulty, after his late fatigues, Quilp 
instructed Tom Scott to make a fire in the yard of sun- 
dry pieces of old timber, and to prepare some coffee for 
breakfast ; for the better furnishing of which repast he 
intrusted him with certain small moneys, to be expended 
in the purchase of hot rolls, butter, sugar, Yarmouth 
bloaters, and other articles of house-keeping ; so that in 
a few minutes a savory meal was smoking on the board. 
With this substantial comfort, the dwarf regaled himself 
to his heart’s content ; and being highly satisfied with 
this free and gypsy mode of life (which he had often 
meditated, as offering, whenever he chose to avail him- 


240 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


self of it, an agreeable freedom from the restraints of 
matrimony, and a choice means of keeping Mrs. Quilp 
and her mother in a state of incessant agitation and sus- 
pense), bestirred himself to improve his retreat, and 
render it more commodious and comfortable. 

With this view, he issued forth to a place hard by, 
«vkere sea-stores were sold, purchased a second-hand 
hammock, and had it slung in seamanlike fashion from 
the ceiling of the counting-house. He also caused to fc»e 
erected, in the same mouldy cabin, an old ship’s stove 
with a rusty funnel to carry the smoke through the 
roof ; and these arrangements completed, surveyed them 
with ineffable delight. 

“ I’ve got a country-house like Robinson Crusoe,” said 
the dwarf, ogling the accommodations ; “ a solitary, se- 
questered, desolate-island sort of spot, where I can be 
quite alone when I have business on hand, and be secure 
from all spies and listeners. Nobody near me here, but 
rats, and they are fine stealthy secret fellows. I shall 
be as merry as a grig among these gentry. I’ll look out 
for one like Christopher, and poison him — ha, ha, ha ! 
Business though — business — we must be mindful of 
business in the midst of pleasure, and the time has flown 
this morning, I declare.” 

Enjoining Tom Scott to await his return, and not to 
stand upon his head, or throw a somerset, or so much 
as walk upon his hands meanwhile, on pain of lingering 
torments, the dwarf threw himself into a boat, and cross- 
ing to the other side of the river, and then speeding 
away on foot, reached Mr. Swiveller’s usual house of 
entertainment in Bevis Marks, just as that gentleman 
sat down alone to dinner in its dusky parlor. 

“ Dick ” — said the dwarf, thrusting his head in at 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


241 


the door, “ my pet, my pupil, the apple of my eye, hey, 
hey 4” 

“ Oh you’re there, are you ? ” returned Mr. Swiveller, 
u how are you?” 

“ How’s Dick ? ” retorted Quilp. “ How’s the cream 
of clerkship, eh ? ” 

“ Why, rather sour, sir,” replied Mr. Swiveller. “Be- 
ginning to border upon cheesiness, in fact.” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” said the dwarf, advancing. 
“ Has Sally proved unkind. 1 Of all the girls that 
are so smart, there’s none like ’ — eh Dick ! ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Mr. Swiveller, eating his 
dinner with great gravity, “ none like her. She’s the 
sphinx of private life is Sally B.” 

“You’re out of spirits,” said Quilp, drawing up a 
chair. “ What’s the matter ? ” 

“ The law don’t agree with me,” returned Dick. “ Jl 
isn’t moist enough, and there’s too much confinement. I 
have been thinking of running away.” 

“ Bah ! ” said the dwarf. “ Where would you run to, 
Dick?” 

“ I don’t know,” returned Mr. Swiveller. “ Towards 
Highgate, I suppose. Perhaps the bells might strike 
up 4 Turn again Swiveller, Lord Mayor of London.’ 
Whittington’s name was Dick. I wish cats were 
scarcer.” 

Quilp looked at his companion with his eyes screwed 
up into a comical expression of curiosity, and patiently 
awaited his further explanation ; upon which, however, 
Mr. Swiveller appeared in no hurry to enter, as he ate a 
very long dinner in profound silence, finally pushed 
away his plate, threw himself back into his chair, folded 
his arms, and stared ruefully at the fire, in which some 
von. it. 16 


242 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ends of cigars were smoking on their own account, and 
sending up a fragrant odor. 

' 4 Perhaps you’d like a bit of cake ” — said Dick, at 
last turning to the dwarf. 44 You’re quite welcome to it. 
You ought to be, for it’s of your making.” 

44 What do you mean ? ” said Quilp. 

Mr. Swiveller replied by taking from his pocket a 
small and very greasy parcel, slowly unfolding it, aid 
displaying a little slab of plum-cake, extremely indi- 
gestible in appearance, and bordered with a paste of 
white sugar an inch and a half deep. 

44 What should you say this was ? ” demanded Mi 
Swiveller. 

44 It looks like bride-cake,” replied the dwarf, grinning. 

44 And whose should you say it was ? ” inquired Mr. 
Swiveller, rubbing the pastry against his nose with a 
dreadful calmness. 44 Whose ? ” 

“ Not ” — 

“ Yes,” said Dick, 44 the same. You needn’t mention 
her name. There’s no such name now. Her name is 
Cheggs now, Sophy Cheggs. Yet loved I as man never 
loved that hadn’t wooden legs, and my heart, my heart 
is breaking for the love of Sophy Cheggs.” 

With this extemporary adaptation of a popular ballad 
to the distressing circumstances of his own case, Mr. 
Swiveller folded up the parcel again, beat it very flat 
between the palms of his hands, thrust it into his breast, 
buttoned his coat over it, and folded his arms upon the 
whole. 

44 Now, I hope you’re satisfied, sir,” said Dick ; 44 and 
I hope Fred’s satisfied. You went partners in the mis- 
chief, and I hope you like it. This is the triumph I 
was to have, is it ? It’s like the old country-dance of 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


243 


that name, where there are two gentlemen to one lady, 
and one has her, and the other husn’t, but comes limp- 
ing up behind to make out the ligure. But it’s Des- 
tiny, and mine’s a crusher ! ” 

Disguising his secret joy in Mr. Swiveller’s defeat, 
Daniel Quilp adopted the surest means of soothing him, 
by ringing the bell, and ordering in a supply of rosy 
wine (that is to say of its usual representative), which 
he put about with great alacrity, calling upon Mr. 
Swiveller to pledge him in various toasts derisive of 
Cheggs, and eulogistic of the happiness of single men. 
Such was their impression on Mr. Swiveller, coupled 
with the reflection that no man could oppose his des- 
tiny, that in a very short space of time his spirits rose 
surprisingly, and he was enabled to give the dwarf an 
account of the receipt of the cake, which, it appeared, 
had been brought to Bevis Marks by the two surviv- 
ing Miss Wackleses in person, and delivered at the 
office door with much giggling and joyfulness. 

“ Ha ! ” said Quilp. “ It will be our turn to giggle 
soon. And that reminds me — you spoke of young 
Trent — where, is he ? ” 

Mr. Swiveller explained that his respectable friend 
had recently accepted a responsible situation in a loco- 
motive gaming-house, and was at that time absent on 
a professional tour among the adventurous spirits of 
Great Britain. 

“ That’s unfortunate,” said the dwarf, “ for I came, 
in fact, to ask you about him. A thought has occurred 
to me. Dick; your friend over the way” — 

“ Which friend ? ” 

“In the first floor.” 

“Yes?” 


244 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Your friend in the first floor, Dick, may know hiIn. ,, 

“No he don’t,” said Mr. Swiveller, shaking his head. 

“ Don’t. No, because he has never seen him,” re- 
joined Quilp ; “ but if we were to bring them together, 
who knows, Dick, but Fred, properly introduced, would 
serve his turn almost as well as little Nell or her grand- 
father — who knows but it might make the young fel- 
low’s fortune, and, through him, yours, eh ? ” 

“ Why, the fact is, you see,” said Mr. Swiveller, 
“ that they have been brought together.” 

“ Have been ! ” cried the dwarf, looking suspiciously 
at his companion. “ Through whose means ? ” 

“ Through mine,” said Dick, slightly confused. 
“ Didn’t I mention it to you the last time you called 
over yonder ? ” 

“ You know you didn’t,” returned the dwarf. 

“ I believe you’re right,” said Dick. “ No. I didn’t, 
I recollect. Oh yes, I brought ’em together that very 
day. It was Fred’s suggestion.” 

“ And what came of it ? ” 

“ Why, instead of my friend’s bursting into tears 
when he knew who Fred was, embracing him kindly, 
and telling him that he was his grandfather, or his 
grandmother in disguise, (which we fully expected), 
he flew into a tremendous passion ; called him all 
manner of names ; said it was in a great measure his 
fault that little Nell and the old gentleman had ever 
been brought to poverty ; didn’t hint at our taking any- 
thing to drink ; and — and in short rather turned us 
out of the room than otherwise.” 

“That’s strange,” said the dwarf, musing. 

“ So we remarked to each other at the time,” re- 
turned Dick coolly, “ but quite true.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


245 


Quilp was plainly staggered by this intelligence, over 
which he brooded for some time in moody silence, often 
raising his eyes to Mr. Swiveller’s face, arid sharply 
scanning its expression. As he could read in it, how- 
ever, no additional information or anything to lead him 
to believe he had spoken falsely ; and as Mr. Swivel- 
ler, left to his own meditations, sighed deeply, and was 
evidently growing maudlin on the subject of Mrs. 
Cheggs ; the dwarf soon broke up the conference and 
took his departure, leaving the bereaved one to his 
melancholy ruminations. 

u Have been brought together, eh ? ” said the dwarf, 
as he walked the streets alone. “ My friend has stolen 
a march upon me. It led him to nothing, and there- 
fore is no great matter, save in the intention. I’m 
glad he has lost his mistress. Ha, ha ! The blockhead 
mus’n’t leave the law at present. I’m sure of him 
where he is, whenever I want him for my own pur- 
poses, and, besides, he’s a good unconscious spy on 
Brass, and tells, in his cups, all that he sees and 
hears. You’re useful to me, Dick, and cost nothing 
but a little treating now and then. I am not sure 
that it may not be worth while, before long, to take 
credit with the stranger, Dick, by discovering your 
designs upon the child ; but for the present, we’ll re- 
main the best friends in the world, with your good 
leave.” 

Pursuing these thoughts, and gasping as he went 
along, after his own peculiar fashion, Mr. Quilp once 
more crossed the Thames, and shut himself up in his 
Bachelor’s Hall, which, by reason of his newly erected 
chimney depositing the smoke inside the room and car- 
rying none of it off, was not quite so agreeable as more 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


£4f> 

fastidiojs people might have desired. Such inconven- 
iences, however, instead of disgusting the dwarf with 
his new abode, rather suited his humor ; so, after din- 
ing luxuriously from the public-house, he lighted his 
pipe, and smoked against the chimney until nothing 
of him was visible through the mist, but a pair of led 
and highly inflamed eyes, with sometimes a dim vision 
of his head and face, as, in a violent fit of coughing, 
he slightly stirred the smoke and scattered the heavy 
wreaths by which they were obscured. In the midst 
of this atmosphere, which must infallibly have smothered 
any other man, Mr. Quilp passed the evening with great 
cheerfulness ; solacing himself all the time with the pipe 
and the case-bottle ; and occasionally entertaining him- 
self with a melodious howl, intended for a song, but 
bearing not the faintest resemblance to any scrap of 
any piece of music, vocal or instrumental, ever in- 
vented by man. Thus he amused himself until nearly 
midnight, when he turned into his hammock with the 
utmost satisfaction. 

The first sound that met his ears in the morning — 
as he half opened his eyes, and, finding himself so 
unusually near the ceiling, entertained a drowsy idea 
that he must have been transformed into a fly or 
blue-bottle in the course of the night, — was that of a 
6tifled sobbing and weeping in the room. 

Peeping cautiously over the side of his hammock, 
he descried Mrs. Quilp, to whom, after contemplating 
her for some time in silence, he communicated a vio- 
lent start by suddenly yelling out, 

“ Halloa ! ” 

“ Oh Quilp ! ” cried his poor little wife, looking up 
6 How you frightened me ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


247 


“ I meant to, you jade,” returned the dwarf. “ What 
do you want here ? I’m dead, a’n’t I ? ” 

“Oh please come home, do come home,” said Mrs. 
Quilp, sobbing ; “ we’ll never do so any more, Quilp, 
and after all it was only a mistake that grew out of 
our anxiety.” 

“ Out of your anxiety,” grinned the dwarf. “ Yes, 
I know that — out of your anxiety for my death. I 
shall come home when I please, I tell you. I shall 
come home when I please, and go when I please. 
Fll be a Will o’ the Wisp, now here, now there, 
dancing about you always, starting up when you least 
expect me, and keeping you in a constant state of 
restlessness and irritation. Will you begone ? ” 

Mrs. Quilp durst only make a gesture of entreaty. 
“I tell you no,” cried the dwarf. “No. If you 
dare to come here again unless you’re sent for, I’ll 
keep watch-dogs in the yard that’ll growl and bite — 
I’ll have man-traps, cunningly altered and improved for 
catching women — I’ll have spring-guns that shall ex- 
plode when you tread upon the wires, and blow you 
into little pieces. Will you go ? ” 

“ Do forgive me. Do come back,” said his wife, 
earnestly. 

“ No-o-o-o-o ! ” roared Quilp. “ Not till my own good 
time, and then I’ll return again as often as I choose, 
and be accountable to nobody for my goings or com- 
ings. You see the door there. Will you go ? ” 

Mr. Quilp delivered this last command in such a 
rery energetic voice, and moreover accompanied it 
with such a sudden gesture, indicative of an intention 
to spring out of his hammock, and, i ight-capped as he 
was, bear his wife home again through the public 


248 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


(streets, that she sped away like an arrow. Her 
worthy lord stretched his neck and eyes until she had 
crossed the yard, and then, not at all sorry to have 
had this opportunity of carrying his point, and assert- 
ing the sanctity of his castle, fell into an immoderate 
fit of laughter, and laid himself down to sleep again. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


249 


CHAPTER LI. 

The bland and open-hearted proprietor of Bachelor’s 
Hall, slept on amidst the congenial accompaniments ol 
rain, mud, dirt, damp, fog, and rats, until late in the day; 
when, summoning his valet Tom Scott to assist him to 
rise, and to prepare breakfast, he quitted his couch, and 
made his toilet. This duty performed, and his repast 
ended, he again betook himself to Bevis Marks. 

This visit was not intended for Mr. Swiveller, bu 
for his friend and employer Mr. Sampson Brass. Both 
gentlemen however were from home, nor was the life 
and light of law, Miss Sally, at her post either. The 
fact of their joint desertion of the office was made known 
to all comers by a scrap of paper in the handwriting 
of Mr. Swiveller, which was attached to the bell-handle, 
and which, giving the reader no clew to the time of 
day when it was first posted, furnished him with the 
rather vague and unsatisfactory information that that 
gentleman would “ return in an hour.” 

“ There’s a servant, I suppose,” said the dwarf, knock- 
ing at the house-door. “ She’ll do.” 

After a sufficiently long interval, the door was opened, 
and a small voice immediately accosted him with, “ Oh 
please will you leave a card or message ? ” 

“Eh?” said the dwarf, looking down (it was some- 
thing quite new to him) upon the small servant. 


250 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


To this, the child, conducting her conversation as 
upon the occasion of her first interview with Mr. Swiv- 
eller, again replied, “Oh please will you leave a card 
or message ? ” 

66 I’ll write a note,” said the dwarf, pushing past her 
into the office ; “ and mind your master has it directly he 
comes home.” So Mr. Quilp climbed up to the top of a 
tall stool to write the note, and the small servant carefully 
tutored for such emergencies, looked on, with her eyes 
wide open, ready, if he so much as abstracted a wafer, 
to rush into the street and give the alarm to the police. 

As Mr. Quilp folded his note (which was soon writ- 
ten : being a very short one) he encountered the gaze 
of the small servant. He looked at her, long and 
earnestly. 

“ How are you ? ” said the dwarf, moistening a wafer 
with horrible grimaces. 

The small servant, perhaps frightened by his looks, 
returned no audible reply; but it appeared from the 
motion of her lips that she was inwardly repeating the 
same form of expression concerning the note or mes- 
sage. 

“ Do they use you ill here ? is your mistress a Tar- 
tar?” said Quilp with a chuckle. 

In reply to the last interrogation, the small servant, 
with a look of infinite cunning mingled with fear, 
screwed up her mouth very tight and round, and nodded 
violently. 

Whether there was anything in the peculiar slyness 
of her action which fascinated Mr. Quilp, or anything 
in the expression of her features at the moment which 
attracted his. attention for some other reason ; or whether 
it merely occurred to him as a pleasant whim to stare 


THE OLD CURIOS ITT SHOP. 


251 


the small servant out of countenance ; certain it is, that 
he planted his elbows square and firmly on the desk, 
and squeezing up his cheeks with his hands, looked at 
her fixedly. 

u Where do you come from ? ” he said after a long 
pause, stroking his chin. 

“ I don’t know.” N 

“ What’s your name ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” retorted Quilp. “ What does your mis- 
tress call you when she wants you ? ” 

“ A little devil,” said the child. 

She added in the same breath, as if fearful of any 
further questioning, “ But please will you leave a card 
or message ? ” 

These unusual answers might naturally have provoked 
some more inquiries. Quilp, however, without uttering 
another word, withdrew, his eyes from the small servant, 
stroked his chin more thoughtfully than before, and then, 
bending over the note as if to direct it with scrupulous 
and hair-breadth nicety, looked at her, covertly but very 
narrowly, from under his bushy eyebrows. The result 
of this secret survey was, that he shaded his face with 
his hands, and laughed slyly and noiselessly, until every 
vein in it was swollen almost to bursting. Pulling 
his hat over his brow to conceal his mirth and its 
effects, he tossed the letter to the child, and hastily 
withdrew. 

Once in the street, moved by some secret impulse, 
he laughed, and held his sides, and laughed again, and 
tried to peer through the dusty area railings as if to 
latch another glimpse of the child, until he was quite 
tired out. At last, he travelled back to the Wilderness, 


252 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


which was within rifle-shot of his bachelor retreat, and 
ordered tea in the wooden summer-house that afternoon 
for three persons ; an invitation to Miss Sally Brass 
and her brother to partake of that entertainment at that 
[dace, having been the object both of his journey and 
his note. 

It was not precisely the kind of weather in which 
people usually take tea in summer-houses, far less in 
summer-houses in an advanced state of decay, and over- 
looking the slimy banks of a great river at low water. 
Nevertheless, it was in this choice retreat that Mr. Quilp 
ordered a cold collation to be prepared, and it was be- 
neath its cracked and leaky roof that he, in due course 
of time, received Mr. Sampson and his sister Sally. 

“ You’re fond of the beauties of nature,” said Quilp 
with a grin. 6% Is this charming, Brass ? Is it unusual, 
unsophisticated, primitive ? ” 

“ It’s delightful indeed, sir,” replied the lawyer. 

“ Cool ? ” said Quilp. 

“ N-not particularly so, I think, sir,” rejoined Brass, 
with his teeth chattering in his head. 

“ Perhaps a little damp and agueish ? ” said Quilp. 

“ Just damp enough to be cheerful, sir,” rejoined 
Brass. “ Nothing more, sir, nothing more.” 

“ And Sally ? ” said the delighted dwarf. “ Does she 
like it?” 

“ She’ll like it better,” returned that strong-minded 
lady, u when she has tea ; so let us have it, and don’t 
bother.” 

“ Sweet Sally ! ” cried Quilp, extending his arms as 
if about to embrace her. “ Gentle, charming, overwhelm- 
ing Sally.” 

“ He’s a very remarkable man indeed ! ” soliloquized 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


253 


Mr. Brass. “He’s quite a Troubadour you know ; quite 
a Troubadour ! ” 

These complimentary expressions were uttered in a 
somewhat absent and distracted manner ; for the un- 
fortunate lawyer, besides having a bad cold in his head 
had got wet in coming, and would have willingly borne 
some pecuniary sacrifice if he Could have shifted his 
present raw quarters to a warm room, and dried him- 
self at a fire. Quilp, however, — who, beyond the 
gratification of his demon whims, owed Sampson some 
acknowledgment of the part he had played in the morn- 
ing scene of which he had been a hidden witness, — 
marked these symptoms of uneasiness with a delight 
past all expression, and derived from them a secret joy 
which the costliest banquet could never have afforded 
him. 

It is worthy of remark too, as illustrating a little feat- 
ure in the character of Miss Sally Brass, that, although 
on her own account she would have borne the discom- 
forts of the Wilderness with a very ill grace, and would 
probably, indeed, have walked off before the tea ap- 
peared, she no sooner beheld the latent uneasiness and 
misery of her brother than she developed a grim satis- 
faction, and began to enjoy herself after her own manner. 
Though the wet came stealing through the roof and 
trickling down upon their heads, Miss Brass uttered 
no complaint, but presided over the tea equipage with 
imperturbable composure. While Mr. Quilp, in his 
uproarious hospitality, seated himself upon an empty 
beer-barrel, vaunted the place as the mosl beautiful and 
comfortable in the three kingdoms, and elevating his 
glass, drank to their next merry-meeting l'n that jovial 
spot ; and Mr. Brass, with the rain plashing down into 


254 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


his teacup, made a dismal attempt to pluck up his spirits 
and appear at his ease ; and Tom Scott, who was in 
waiting at the door under an old umbrella, exulted in his 
agonies, and bade fair to split his sides with laughing ; 
while all this was passing, Miss Sally Brass, unmind- 
ful of the wet which dripped down upon her own femi- 
nine person and fair apparel, sat placidly behind the 
tea-board, erect and grizzly, contemplating the unhap- 
piness of her brother with a mind at ease, and content, 
in her amiable disregard of self, to sit there all night, 
witnessing the torments which his avaricious and grovel- 
ling nature compelled him to endure and forbade him 
to resent. And this, it must be observed, or the illus- 
tration would be incomplete, although in a business point 
of view she had the strongest sympathy with Mr. Samp- 
son, and would have been beyond measure indignant, 
if he had thwarted their client in any one respect. 

In the height of his boisterous merriment, Mr. Quilp, 
having on some pretence dismissed his attendant sprite 
for the moment, resumed his usual manner all at once, 
dismounted from his cask, and laid his hand upon the 
lawyer’s sleeve. 

“A word,” said the dwarf, “before we go farther. 
Sally, hark ’ee for a minute.” 

Miss Sally drew closer, as if accustomed to business 
conferences with their host which were the better for not 
having air. 

“ Business,” said the dwarf, glancing from brother to 
sister. “ Very private business. Lay your heads to- 
gether when you’re by yourselves.” 

“ Certainly, sir,” returned Brass, taking out his pocket- 
book and pencil. “ I’ll take down the heads if you 
please, sir. Remarkable documents,” added the lawyer, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


255 


raising his eyes to the ceiling, “ most remarkable docu- 
ments. He states his points so clearly that it’s a treat 
to have ’em ! I don’t know any act of parliament that’s 
equal to him in clearness.” 

“ I shall deprive you of a treat,” said Quilp. “ Put 
up your book. We don’t want any documents. So. 
There’s a lad named Kit” — 

Miss Sally nodded, implying that she knew of him. 

“ Kit ! ” said Mr. Sampson. — “ Kit ! Ha ! I’ve 
heard the name before, but I don’t exactly call to mind 
— I don’t exactly ” — - 

“ You’re as slow as a tortoise, and more thick-headed 
than a rhinoceros,” returned his obliging client with an 
impatient gesture. 

“He’s extremely pleasant!” cried the obsequious 
Sampson. “ His acquaintance with Natural History too 
is surprising. Quite a Buffoon, quite ! ” 

There is no doubt that Mr. Brass intended some com- 
pliment or other ; and it has been argued with show of 
reason that he would have said Buffon, but made use of 
a superfluous vowel. Be this as it may, Quilp gave him 
no time for correction, as he performed that office him- 
self by more than tapping him on the head with the 
handle of his umbrella. 

“ Don’t let’s have any wrangling,” said Miss Sally, 
staying his hand. “ I’ve showed you that I know him, 
and that’s enough.” 

“ She’s always foremost ! ” said the dwarf, patting her 
on the back and looking contemptuously at Sampson. 
u I don’t like Kit, Sally.” 

“ Nor I,” rejoined Miss Brass. 

“ Nor I,” said Sampson. 

v Why, that’s right ! ” cried Quilp. “ Half our work 


256 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


is done already. This Kit is one of your honest people ; 
one of your fair characters ; a prowling, prying hound ; 
a hypocrite ; a double-faced, white-livered, sneaking spy ; 
a crouching cur to those that feed and coax him, and a 
barking yelping dog to all besides.” 

“ Fearfully eloquent ! ” cried Brass, with a sneeze. 
“ Quite appalling ! ” 

“ Come to the point,” said Miss Sally, “ and don’t talk 
bo much.” 

“ Right again ! ” exclaimed Quilp, with another com 
temptuous look at Sampson, “ always foremost ! I say, 
Sally, he is a yelping, insolent dog to all besides, and 
most of all, to me. In short, I owe him a grudge.” 

“ That’s enough, sir,” said Sampson. 

“No, it’s not enough, sir,” sneered Quilp; “will you 
hear me out ? Besides that I owe him a grudge on that 
account, he thwarts me at this minute, and stands be- 
tween me and an end which might otherwise prove a 
golden one to us all. Apart from that, I repeat that he 
crosses my humor, and I hate him. Now, you know the 
lad, and can guess the rest. Devise your own means 
of putting him out of my way, and execute them. Shall 
it be done?” 

“ It shall, sir,” said Sampson. 

“ Then give me your hand,” retorted Quilp. “ Sally, 
girl, yours. I rely as much, or more, on you than him. 
Tom Scott comes back. Lantern, pipes, more grog, and 
a jolly night of it ! ” 

No other word was spoken, no other look exchanged, 
which had the slightest reference to this, the real occa- 
sion of their meeting. The trio were well accustomed 
to act together, and were linked to each other by ties of 
mutual interest and advantage, and nothing more wa3 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


257 


needed. Resuming liis boisterous manner with the same 
ease with which he had thrown it off, Quilp was in an 
instant the same uproarious, reckless little savage, he 
had been a few seconds before. It was ten o’clock at 
night before the amiable Sally supported her beloved 
and loving brother from the Wilderness, by which time 
he needed the utmost support her tender frame could 
render ; his walk being for some unknown reason any- 
thing but steady, and his legs constantly doubling up, in 
unexpected places. 

Overpowered, notwithstanding his late prolonged slum- 
bers, by the fatigues of the last few days, the dwarf lost 
no time in creeping to his dainty house, and was soon 
dreaming in his hammock. Leaving him to visions, in 
which perhaps the quiet figures we quitted in the old 
church-porch were not without their share, be it our 
task to rejoin them as they sat and watched. 


von. n. 


VT 


258 


THE OLD CTTUIOSITT SHOP. 


CHAPTER LII. 

After a long time, the school-master appeared at the 
wicket-gate of the church-yard, and hurried towards 
them, jingling in his hand, as he came along, a bundle of 
rusty keys. He was quite breathless with pleasure and 
haste when he reached the porch, and at first could only 
point towards the old building which the child had been 
contemplating so earnestly. 

u You see those two old houses,” he said at last. 

“ Yes surely,” replied Nell. “ I have been looking at 
them nearly all the time you have been away.” 

“ And you would have looked at them more curiously 
yet, if you could have guessed what I have to tell you,” 
said her friend. “ One of those houses is mine.” 

Without saying any more, or giving the child time to 
reply, the school-master took her hand, and, his honest 
face quite radiant with exultation, led her to the place 
of which he spoke. 

They stopped before its low arched door. After try- 
ing several of the keys in vain, the school-master found 
ane to fit the huge lock, which turned back, creaking, 
and admitted them into the house. 

The room into which they entered was a vaulted 
chamber once nobly ornamented by cunning architects, 
and still retaining, in its beautiful groined roof and rich 
stone tracery, choice remnants of its ancient splendor. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


259 


Foliage carved in the stone, and emulating the mastery 
of Nature’s hand, yet remained to tell how many times 
the leaves outside had come and gone, while it lived on 
unchanged. The broken figures supporting the burden 
of the chimney-piece, though mutilated, were still distin- 
guishable for what they had been — far different from 
the dust without — and showed sadly by the empty 
hearth, like creatures who had outlived their kind, and 
mourned their own too slow decay. 

In some old time — for even change was old in that 
old place — a wooden partition had been constructed in 
one part of the chamber to form a sleeping-closet, into 
which the light was admitted at the same period by a 
rude window, or rather niche, cut in the solid wall. This 
screen, together with two seats in the broad chimney, 
had at some forgotten date been part of the church or 
convent ; for the oak, hastily appropriated to its present 
purpose, had been little altered from its former shape, 
and presented to the eye a pile of fragments of rich 
carving from old monkish stalls. 

An open door leading to a small room or cell, dim 
with the light that came through leaves of ivy, com- 
pleted the interior of this portion of the ruin. It was 
not quite destitute of furniture. A few strange chairs, 
whose arms and legs looked as though they had dwindled 
away with age ; a table, the very spectre of its race ; a 
great old chest that had once held records in the church, 
with other quaintly fashioned domestic necessaries, and 
store of fire-wood for the winter, were scattered around, 
and gave evident tokens of its occupation as a dwelling- 
place at no very distant time. 

The child looked around her, with that solemn feeling 
with which we contemplate the work of ages that have 


260 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


become but drops of water in tlie great ocean of eternity 
The old man had followed them, but they were all three 
hushed for a space, and drew their breath softly, as if 
they feared to break the silence even by so slight a 
sound. 

“ It is a very beautiful place ! ” said the child, in a 
low voice. 

“ I almost feared you thought otherwise,” returned 
the school-master. “You shivered when we first came 
in, as if you felt it cold or gloomy.” 

“ It was not that,” said Nell, glancing round with a 
slight shudder. “ Indeed I cannot tell you what it was, 
but when I saw the outside, from the church-porch, the 
same feeling came over me. It is its being so old and 
gray, perhaps.” 

“ A peaceful place to live in, don’t you think so ? ” 
said her friend. 

“ Oh yes,” rejoined the child, clasping her hands 
earnestly. “ A quiet, happy place — a place to live and 
learn to die in ! ” She would have said more, but that 
the energy of her thoughts caused her voice to falter, 
and come in trembling whispers from her lips. 

“ A place to live, and learn to live, and gather health 
of mind and body in,” said the school-master ; “ for this 
old house is yours.” 

“ Ours ! ” cried the child. 

“ Ay,” returned the school-master gayly, “ for many a 
merry year to come, I hope. I shall be a close neighbor 
— only next door — but this house is yours.” 

Having now disburdened himself of his great surprise, 
the school-master sat down, and drawing Nell to his side, 
told her how he had learnt that that ancient tenement 
had been occupied for a very long time by an old person, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


261 


nearly a hundred years of age, who kept the keys of the 
church, opened and closed it for the services, and showed 
it to strangers ; how she had died not many weeks ago, 
and nobody had yet been found to fill the office; how, 
learning all this in an interview with the sexton, who 
was confined to his bed by rheumatism, he had been boh 
to make mention of his fellow-traveller, which had been 
so favorably received by that high authority, that he had 
taken courage, acting on his advice, to propound the 
matter to the clergyman. In a word, the result of his 
exertions was, that Nell and her grandfather were to be 
carried before the last-named gentleman next day ; and, 
his approval of their conduct and appearance reserved as 
a matter of form, that they were already appointed to 
the vacant post. 

“ There’s a small allowance of money,” said the school- 
master. “ It is not much, but still enough to live upon in 
this retired spot. By clubbing our funds together, we 
shall do bravely ; no fear of that.” 

u Heaven bless and prosper you ! ” sobbed the child. 

“ Amen, my dear,” returned her friend cheerfully ; 
u and all of us, as it will, and has, in leading us through 
sorrow and trouble to this tranquil life. But we must 
look at my house now. Come ! ” 

They repaired to the other tenement ; tried the rusty 
keys as before ; at length found the right one ; and 
opened the worm-eaten door. It led into a chamber, 
vaulted and old, like that from which they had come, but 
not so spacious, and having only one other little room 
attached. It was not difficult to divine that the other 
house was of right the school-master’s, and that he had 
chosen for himself the least commodious, in his care and 
regard for them. Like the adjoining habitation, it held 


262 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


such old articles of furniture as were absolutely neces- 
sary, and had its stack of firewood. 

To make these dwellings as habitable and full of com* 
fort as they could, was now their pleasant care. In a 
short time, each had its cheerful fire glowing and crack- 
ling on the hearth, and reddening the pale old walls with 
a hale and healthy blush. Nell, busily plying her needle, 
repaired the tattered window-hangings, drew together 
the rents that time had worn in the threadbare scraps of 
carpet, and made them whole and decent. The school- 
master swept and smoothed the ground before the door, 
trimmed the long grass, trained the ivy and creeping 
plants, which hung their drooping heads in melancholy 
neglect ; and gave to the outer walls a cheery air of 
home. The old man, sometimes by his side and some- 
times with the child, lent his aid to both, went here and 
there on little patient services, and was happy. Neigh- 
bors too, as they came from work, proffered their help ; 
or sent their children with such small presents or loans 
as the strangers needed most. It was a busy day ; and 
night came on, and found them wondering that there 
was yet so much to do, and that it should be dark so 
soon. 

They took their supper together, in the house which 
may be henceforth called the child’s ; and, when they 
had finished their meal, drew round the fire, and almost 
in whispers — their hearts were too quiet and glad for 
loud expression — discussed their future plans. Before 
they separated, the school-master read some prayers 
aloud ; and then, full of gratitude and happiness, they 
parted for the night. 

At that silent hour, when her grandfather was sleep- 
ing peacefully in his bed, and every sound was hushed, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


263 


the child lingered before the dying embers, and thought 
of her past fortunes as *if they had been a dream and 
she only now awoke. The glare of the sinking flame, 
reflected in the oaken panels whose carved tops were 
dimly seen in the gloom of the dusky roof — the aged 
walls, where strange shadows came and went with every 
flickering of the fire — the solemn presence, within, of 
that decay which falls on senseless things the most en- 
during in their nature ; and, without, and round about 
on every side, of Death — filled her with deep and 
thoughtful feelings, but with none of terror or alarm. 
A change had been gradually stealing over her, in the 
time of her loneliness and sorrow. With failing strength 
and heightening resolution, there had sprung up a puri- 
fied and altered mind; there had grown in her bosom 
blessed thoughts and hopes, which are the portion of few 
but the weak and drooping. There were none to see the 
frail, perishable figure, as it glided from the fire and 
leaned pensively at the open casement; none but the 
stars, to look into the upturned face and read its history. 
The old church-bell rang out the hour with a mournful 
sound, as if it had grown sad from so much communing 
with the dead and unheeded warning to the living ; the 
fallen leaves rustled ; the grass stirred upon the graves ; 
all else was still and sleeping. 

Some of those dreamless sleepers lay close within the 
shadow of the church — touching the wall, as if they 
clung to it for comfort and protection. Others had 
chosen to lie beneath the changing shade of trees ; 
others, by the path, that footsteps might come near 
them ; others, among the graves of little children. 
Some, had desired to rest beneath the very ground 
they had trodden in their daily walks ; some, where 


264 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the setting sun might shine upon their beds ; some, 

where its light would fall upon them when it rose. Per- 
haps not one of the unprisoned souls had been able 
quite to separate itself in living thought from its old 
companion. If any had, it had still felt for it a love like 
that which captives have been known to bear towards 
the cell in which they have been long confined, and, 

even at parting, hung upon its narrow bounds affec- 

tionately. 

It was long before the child closed the window, and 
approached her bed. Again something of the same 

sensation as before — an involuntary chill — a momen- 
tary feeling akin to fear — but vanishing directly, and 
leaving no alarm behind. Again too, dreams of the little 
scholar ; of the roof opening, and a column of bright 
faces, rising far away into the sky, as she had seen in 
some old scriptural picture once, and looking down on 
her, asleep. It was a sweet and happy dream. The 
quiet spot, outside, seemed to remain the same, save that 
there was music in the air, and a sound of angels’ wings. 
After a time the sisters came there, hand in hand, and 
stood among the graves. And then the dream grew dim, 
and faded. 

With the brightness and joy of morning, came the re- 
newal of yesterday’s labors, the revival of its pleasant 
thoughts, the restoration of its energies, cheerfulness, and 
hope. They worked gayly in ordering and arranging 
their houses until noon, and then went to visit the 
clergyman. 

He was a simple-hearted old gentleman, of a shrink- 
ing, subdued spirit, accustomed to retirement, and very 
little acquainted with the world, which he had left many 
years before to come and settle in that place. His wife 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


265 


Lad died in the house in which he still lived, and he 
had long since lost sight of any earthly cares or hopes 
beyond it. 

He received them very kindly, and at once showed 
an interest in Nell ; asking' her name, and age, her 
birthplace, the circumstances which had led her there 
and so forth. The school-master had already told her 
story. They had no other friends or home to leave, 
he said, and had come to share his fortunes. He loved 
the child as though she were his own. 

“ Well, well,” said the clergyman. “ Let it be as you 
desire. She is very young.” 

“ Old in adversity and trial, sir,” replied the school- 
master. 

“ God help her ! Let her rest, and forget them,” said 
the old gentleman. “ But an old church is a dull and 
gloomy place for one so young as you, my child.” 

“ Oh no, sir,” returned Nell. “ I have no such thoughts, 
indeed.” 

“ I would rather see her dancing on the green at 
nights,” said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon 
her head, and smiling sadly, “ than have her sitting in 
the shadow of our mouldering arches. You must look 
to this, and see that her heart does not grow heavy 
among these solemn ruins. Your request is granted, 
friend.” 

After more kind words, they withdrew, and repaired 
to the child’s house ; where they were yet in conver- 
sation on their happy fortune, when another friend ap- 
peared. 

This w r as a little old gentleman, who lived in the par- 
sonage house, and had resided there (so they learnt 
soon afterwards) ever since the death of the clergy- 


266 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


man’s wife, which had happened fifteen years before. 
He had been his college friend and always his close 
companion ; in the first shock of his grief he had come 
to console and comfort him ; and from that time they 
had never parted company. The little old gentleman 
was the active spirit of the place, the adjuster of all 
differences, the promoter of all merry-makings, the dis- 
penser of his friend’s bounty, and of no small charity 
of his own besides ; the universal mediator, comforter, 
and friend. None of the simple villagers had cared to 
ask his name, or, when they knew it, to store it in 
their memory. Perhaps from some vague rumor of 
his college honors which had been whispered abroad 
on his first arrival, perhaps because he was an unmar- 
ried, unencumbered gentleman, he had been called the 
bachelor. The name pleased him, or suited him as well 
as any other, and the Bachelor he had ever since re- 
mained. And the bachelor it was, it may be added, 
who with his own hands bad laid in the stock of fuel 
which the wanderers had found in their new habita- 
tions. 

The bachelor, then — to call him by his usual ap- 
pellation — lifted the latch, showed his little round mild 
face for a moment at the door, and stepped into the 
room like one who was no stranger to it. 

“ You are Mr. Marton, the new school-master ? 99 he 
said, greeting Nell’s kind friend. 

“I am, sir.” 

“ You come well recommended, and I am glad to 
see you. I should have been in the way yesterday, 
expecting you, but I rode across the country to carry a 
message from a sick mother to her daughter in service 
some miles off, and have but just now returned. This 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


267 


is our young church-keeper ? You are not the less wel- 
come, friend, for her sake, or for this old man’s ; nor 
the worse teacher for having learnt humanity.” 

“ She has been ill, sir, very lately,” said the school- 
master, in answer to the look with which their visitor 
regarded Nell when he had kissed her cheek. 

“ Yes, yes. I know she has,” he rejoined. “ There 
have been suffering and heartache here.” 

“ Indeed there have, sir.” 

The little old gentleman glanced at the grandfather, 
and back again at the child, whose hand he took ten- 
derly in his, and held. 

“ You will be happier here,” he said ; “ we will try, 
at least, to make you so. You have made great im- 
provements here already. Are they the work of your 
hands ?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“We may make some others — not better in them- 
selves, but with better means, perhaps,” said the bache- 
lor. “ Let us see now, let us see.” 

Nell accompanied him into the other little rooms, and 
over both the houses, in which he found various small 
comforts wanting, which he engaged to supply from a 
certain collection of odds and ends he had at home, 
and which must have been a very miscellaneous and 
extensive one, as it comprehended the most opposite 
articles imaginable. They all came, however, and came 
without loss of time ; for the little old gentleman, dis- 
appearing for some five or ten minutes, presently re- 
turned, laden with old shelves, rugs, blankets, and other 
household gear, and followed by a boy bearing a similar 
load. These being cast on the floor in a promiscuous 
heap, yielded a quantity of occupation in arranging, 


268 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


erecting, and putting away ; the superintendence of which 
task evidently afforded the old gentleman extreme de- 
light, and engaged him for some time with great brisk- 
ness and activity. When nothing more was left to be 
done, he charged the boy to run off and bring his school- 
mates to be marshalled before their new master, and sol 
emnly reviewed. 

“ As good a set of fellows, Mar ton, as you’d wish to 
see,” he said, turning to the school-master when the boy 
was gone ; “ but I don’t let ’em know I think so. That 
wouldn’t do, at all.” 

The messenger soon returned at the head of a long 
row of urchins, great and small, who, being confronted 
by the bachelor at the house-door, fell into various con- 
vulsions of politeness ; clutching their hats and caps, 
squeezing them into the smallest possible dimensions, 
and making all manner of bows and scrapes, which the 
lft tie old gentleman contemplated with excessive satisfac- 
tion, and expressed his approval of by a great many 
nods and smiles. Indeed, his approbation of the boys 
was by no means so scrupulously disguised as he had led 
the school-master to suppose, inasmuch as it broke out in 
Bundry loud whispers and confidential remarks which 
were perfectly audible to them every one. 

“ This first boy, school-master,” said the bachelor, u is 
John Owen ; a lad of good parts, sir, and frank, honest 
temper ; but too thoughtless, too playful, too light-headed 
by far. That boy, my good sir, would break his neck 
with pleasure, and deprive his parents of their chief 
comfort — and between ourselves when you come to see 
him at hare and hounds, taking the fence and ditch by 
the finger-post, and sliding down the face of the little 
quarry, you’ll never forget it. It’s beautiful J ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


269 


John Owen having been thus rebuked, and being in 
perfect possession of the speech aside, the bachelor sin- 
gled out another boy. 

“ Now, look at that lad, sir,” said the bachelor. “ You 
see that fellow ? Richard Evans his name is, sir. An 
amazing boy to learn, blessed with a good memory, and 
a ready understanding, and moreover with a good voice 
and ear for psalm-singing, in which he is the best among 
us. Yet, sir, that boy will come to a bad end ; he’ll 
never die in his bed ; he’s always falling asleep in church 
in sermon-time — and to tell you the truth, Mr. Marton, 
I always did the same at his age, and feel quite certain 
that it was natural to my constitution, and I couldn’t 
help it.” 

This hopeful pupil edified by the above terrible re- 
proval, the bachelor turned to another, 

“ But if we talk of examples to be shunned,” said he, * 
“if we come to boys that should be a warning and a 
beacon to all their fellows, here’s the one, and I hope 
you won’t spare him. This is the lad, sir ; this one with 
the blue eyes and light hair. This is a swimmer, sir, 
this fellow — a diver, Lord save us ! This is a boy, sir, 
who had a fancy for plunging into eighteen feet of water, 
with his clothes on, and bringing up a blind man’s dog, 
who was being drowned by the weight of his chain and 
collar, while his master stood wringing his hands upon 
the bank, bewailing the loss of his guide and friend. I 
sent the boy two guineas anonymously, sir,” added the 
bachelor, in his peculiar whisper, “ directly I heard of it ; 
but never mention it on any account, for he hasn’t the 
least idea that it came from me.” 

Having disposed of this culprit, the bachelor turned to 
another, and from him to another, and so on through the 


270 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


whole array, laying, for their wholesome restriction with- 
in due bounds, the same cutting emphasis on such of 
their propensities as were dearest to his heart, and were 
unquestionably referable to his own precept and exam- 
ple. Thoroughly persuaded, in the end, that he had 
made them miserable by his severity, he dismissed them 
with a small present, and an admonition to walk quietly 
home, without any leapings, scufflings, or turnings out of 
the way ; which injunction (he informed the school-mas- 
ter in the same audible confidence) he did not think he 
could have obeyed when he was a boy, had his life de- 
pended on it. 

Hailing these little tokens of the bachelor’s disposition 
as so many assurances of his own welcome course from 
that time, the school-master parted from him with a light 
heart and joyous spirits, and deemed himself one of the 
happiest men on earth. The windows of the two old 
houses were ruddy again, that night, with the reflection 
of the cheerful fires that burnt within ; and the bachelor 
and his friend, pausing to look upon them as they re- 
turned from their evening walk, spoke softly together of 
the beautiful child, and looked round upon the church- 
yard with a sigh. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 271 


CHAPTER LIII. 

Nell was stirring early in the morning, and having 
discharged her household tasks, and put everything in 
order for the good school-master (though sorely against 
his will, for he would have spared her the pains), took 
down, from its nail by the fireside, a little bundle of keys 
with which the bachelor had formally invested her on the 
previous day, and went out alone to visit the old church. 

The sky was serene and bright, the air clear, perfumed 
with the fresh scent of newly-fallen leaves, and grateful 
to every sense. The neighboring stream sparkled, and 
rolled onward with a tuneful sound ; the dew glistened 
on the green mounds, like tears shed by good spirits over 
the dead. 

Some young children sported among the tombs, and 
hid from each other, with laughing faces. They had an 
infant with them, and had laid it down asleep upon a 
child’s grave, in a little bed of leaves. It was a new 
grave — the resting-place, perhaps, of some little crea- 
ture, who, meek and patient in its illness, had often sa 
and watched them, and now seemed, to their minds, 
scarcely changed. 

She drew near and asked one of them whose grave it 
was. The child answered that that was not its- name ; it 
was a garden — his brother’s. It was greener, he said, 
than all the other gardens, and the birds loved it better 


272 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


because he had been used to feed them. When he had 
done speaking, he looked at her with a smile, and kneel- 
ing down and nestling for a moment with his cheek 
against the turf, bounded merrily away. 

She passed the church, gazing upward at its old tower, 
vent through the wicket-gate, and so into the village. 
The old sexton, leaning on a crutch, was taking the air 
at his cottage-door, and gave her good-morrow. 

“ You are better ? ” said the child, stopping to speak 
with him. 

“ Ay surely,” returned the old man. “ I’m thankful 
to say, much better.” 

“ You will be quite well soon.” 

“With Heaven’s leave, and a little patience. But 
come in, come in ! ” 

The old man limped on before, and warning her of the 
downward step, which he achieved himself with no 
small difficulty, led the way into his little cottage. 

“ It is but one room you see. There is another up 
above, but the stair has got harder to climb o’ late years, 
and I never use it. I’m thinking of taking to it again, 
next summer, though.” 

The child wondered how a gray -headed man like him 
— one of his trade too — could talk of time so easily. 
He saw her eyes wandering to the tools that hung upon 
the wall, and smiled. 

“ I warrant now,” he said, “ that you think all those 
are used in making graves.” 

“ Indeed, I wondered that you wanted so many.” 

“ And well you might. I am a gardener. I dig the 
ground, and plant things that are to live and grow. My 
works don’t all moulder away, and rot in the earth. You 
see that spade in the centre ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


273 


“ The very old one — so notched and worn ? Yes.* 

“ That’s the sexton’s spade, and it’s a well-used one, 
as you see. 'We’re healthy people here, but it has done 
a power of work. If it could speak now, that spade, it 
would tell you of many an unexpected job that it and I 
have done together ; but I forget ’em, for my memory’s 
a poor one. — That’s nothing new,” he added hastily 
“It always was.” 

“ There are flowers and shrubs to speak to your other 
work,” said the child. 

“ Oh yes. And tall trees. But they are not so sepa- 
rated from the sexton’s labors as you think.” 

“ No!” 

“ Not in my mind, and recollection — such as it is,” 
said the old man. “ Indeed they often help it. For say 
that I planted such a tree for such a man. There it 
stands, to remind me that he died. When I look at its 
broad shadow, and remember what it was in his time, it 
helps me to the age of my other work, and I can tell 
you pretty nearly when I made his grave.” 

u But it may remind you of one who is still alive,” said 
the child. 

“ Of twenty that are dead, in connection with that one 
who lives, then,” rejoined the old man ; “ wife, husband, 
parents, brothers, sisters, children, friends - — a score at 
least. So it happens that the sexton’s spade gets worn 
and battered. I shall need a new one — next sum- 
mer.” 

The child looked quickly towards him, thinking that 
he jested with his age and infirmity : but the unconscious 
sexton was quite in earnest. 

“ Ah ! ” he said, after a brief silence. “ People never 
learn. They never learn. It’s only we who turn up 
18 


VOL. II. 


274 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

the ground, where nothing grows and everything decays, 
who think of such things as these — who think of them 
properly, I mean. You have been into the church ? ” 

“ I am going there now,” the child replied. 

“ There's an old well there,” said the sexton, “ right 
underneath the belfry ; a deep, dark, echoing well. 
Forty year ago you had only to let down the bucket till 
the first knot in the rope was free of the windlass, and 
you heard it splashing in the cold dull water. By little 
and little the water fell away, so that in ten year after 
that, a second knot was made, and you must unwind so 
much rope, or the bucket swung tight and empty at the 
end. In ten years' time, the water fell again, and a 
third knot was made. In ten year more, the well dried 
up ; and now, if you lower the bucket till your arms are 
tired and let out nearly all the cord, you'll hear it of a 
sudden, clanking and rattling on the ground below ; with 
a sound of being so deep and so far down, that your 
heart leaps into your mouth, and you start away as if 
you were falling in.” 

“ A dreadful place to come on in the dark ! ” exclaimed 
the child, who had followed the old man's looks and 
words until she seemed to stand upon its brink. 

“ What is it but a grave ! ” said the sexton. “ What 
else ! And which of our old folks, knowing all this, 
thought, as the spring subsided, of their own failing 
strength, and lessening life ? Not one ! ” 

“ Are you very old yourself? ” asked the child invol- 
untarily. 

“ I shall be seventy-nine — next summer.” 

“ You still work when you are well ? ” 

“ Work ! To be sure. You shall see my gardens 
hereabout. Look at the window there. I made, and 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


275 


have kept, that plot of ground entirely with my own 
hands. By this time next year I shall hardly see the 
sky, the boughs will have grown so thick. I have my 
winter work at night besides.” 

He opened, as he spoke, a cupboard close to where he 
sat, and produced some miniature boxes, carved in a 
homely manner and made of old wood. 

“ Some gentlefolks who are fond of ancient days, and 
what belongs to them,” he said, “ like to buy these keep- 
sakes from our church and ruins. Sometimes, I make 
them of scraps of oak, that turn up here and there ; 
sometimes of bits of coffins which the vaults have long 
preserved. See here — this is a little chest of the last 
kind, clasped at the edges with fragments of brass plates 
that had writing on ’em once, though it would be hard to 
read it now. I haven’t many by me at this time of year, 
but these shelves will be full — next summer.” 

The child admired and praised his work, and shortly 
afterwards departed ; thinking, as she went, how strange 
it was, that this old man, drawing from his pursuits, and 
everything around him, one stern moral, never contem- 
plated its application to himself ; and, while he dwelt 
upon the uncertainty of human life, seemed both in word 
and deed to deem himself immortal. But her musings 
did not stop here, for she was wise enough to think that 
by a good and merciful adjustment this must be human 
nature, and that the old sexton, with his plans for next 
summer, was but a type of all mankind. 

Full of these meditations, she reached the church. It 
was easy to find the key belonging to the outer door, for 
each was labelled on a scrap of yellow parchment. Its 
very turning in the lock awoke a hollow sound, and when 
she entered with a faltering step, the echoes that it raised 
in closing, made her start. 


276 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


If the peace of the simple village had moved the child 
more strongly, because of the dark and troubled ways 
that lay beyond, and through which she had journeyed 
with such failing feet, what was the deep impression of 
finding herself alone in that solemn building, where the 
very light, coming through sunken windows, seemed old 
and gray, and the air, redolent of earth and mould, 
seemed laden with decay, purified by time of all its 
grosser particles, and sighing through arch and aisle, and 
clustered pillars, like the breath of ages gone ! Here 
was the broken pavement, worn, so long ago, by pious 
feet, that Time, stealing on the pilgrims’ steps, had trod- 
den out their track, and left but crumbling stones. Here 
were the rotten beam, the sinking arch, the sapped and 
mouldering wall, the lowly trench of earth, the stately 
tomb on which no epitaph remained, — all, — marble, 
stone, iron, wood, and dust, one common monument of 
ruin. The best work and the worst, the plainest and the 
richest, the stateliest and the least imposing — both of 
Heaven’s work and Man’s — all found one common level 
here, and told one common tale. 

Some part of the edifice had been a baronial chapel, 
and here were effigies of warriors, stretched upon their 
beds of stone with folded hands — crossed -legged, those 
who had fought in the Holy Wars — girded with their 
swords, and cased in armor as they had lived. Some of 
these knights had their own weapons, helmets, coats of 
mail, hanging upon the walls hard by, and dangling from 
rusty hooks. Broken and dilapidated as they were, they 
yet retained their ancient form, and something of their 
ancient aspect. Thus violent deeds live after men upon 
the earth, and traces of war and bloodshed will survive 
in mournful shapes, long after those who worked the des- 
olation are but atoms of earth themselves. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


277 


The child sat down, in this old, silent place, among the 
stark figures on the tombs — they made it more quiet 
there, than elsewhere, to her fancy — and gazing round 
with a feeling of awe, tempered with a calm delight, felt 
that now she was happy, and at rest. She took a Bible 
from the shelf, and read ; then, laying it down, thought 
of the summer days and the bright spring-time that would 
come — of the rays of sun that would fall in aslant, upon 
the sleeping forms — of the leaves that would flutter at 
the window, and play in glistening shadows on the pave- 
ment — of the songs of birds, and growth of buds and 
blossoms out of doors — of the sweet air, t 1 at would 
steal in, and gently wave the tattered banners overhead. 
What if the spot awakened thoughts of death ! Die who 
would, it would still remain the same ; these sights and 
sounds would still go on, as happily as ever. It would 
be no pain to sleep amidst them. 

She left the chapel — very slowly and often turning 
back to gaze again — and coming to a low door, which 
plainly led into the tower, opened it, and climbed the 
winding stair in darkness ; save where she looked down, 
through narrow loop-holes, on the place she had left, or 
caught a glimmering vision of the dusty bells. At length 
she gained the end of the ascent and stood upon the tur- 
ret top. 

Oh ! the glory of the sudden burst of light ; the fresh 
ness of the fields and woods, stretching away on every 
side, and meeting the bright blue sky ; the cattle grazing 
in the pasturage ; the smoke, that, coming from among 
the trees, seemed to rise upward from the green earth 
the children yet at their gambols down below — all, 
everything, so beautiful and happy I It was like passing 
from death to life ; it was drawing nearer Heaven. 


278 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


The children were gone, when she emerged into the 
porch, and locked the door. As she passed the school- 

house she could hear the busy hum of voices. Her 

friend had begun his labors only that day. The noise 

grew louder, and, looking back, she saw the boys come 

trooping out and disperse themselves, with merry shouts 
and play. “ It’s a good thing,” thought the child, “ I am 
very glad they pass the church.” And then she stopped, 
to fancy how the noise would sound inside, and how gently 
it would seem to die away upon the ear. 

Again that day, yes, twice again, she stole back to the 
old chapel, and in her former seat read from the same 
book, or indulged the same quiet train of thought. Even 
when it had grown dusk, and the shadows of coming 
night made it more solemn still, the child remained, like 
one rooted to the spot, and had no fear or thought of 
stirring. 

They found her there, at last, and took her home. 
She looked pale but very happy, until they separated for 
the night ; and then, as the poor school-master stooped 
down to kiss her cheek, he thought he felt a tear upon 
bis face. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


279 


CHAPTER LIY. 

The bachelor, among his various occupations, found 
in the old church a constant source of interest and amuse- 
ment. Taking that pride in it which men conceive for 
the wonders of their own little world, he had made its 
history his study ; and many a summer day within its 
walls, and many a winter’s night beside the parsonage 
fire, had found the bachelor still poring over, and adding 
to, his goodly store of tale and legend. 

As he was not one of those rough spirits who would 
strip fair Truth of every little shadowy vestment in 
which time and teeming fancies love to array her — and 
some of which become her pleasantly enough, serving, 
like the waters of her well, to add new graces to the 
charms they half conceal and half suggest, and to awaken 
interest and pursuit rather than languor and indifference 
— as, unlike this stern and obdurate class, he loved to 
see the goddess crowned with those garlands of wild 
flowers which tradition wreathes for her gentle wearing, 
and which are often freshest in their homeliest shapes, — 
he trod with a light step and bore with a light hand upon 
the dust of centuries, unwilling to demolish any of the 
airy shrines that had been raised above it, if any good 
feeling or affection of the human heart were hiding there- 
abouts. Thus, in the case of an ancient coffin of rough 
stone, supposed, for many generations, to contain the 


280 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


bones of a certain baron, who, after ravaging, with cut, 
and thrust, and plunder, in foreign lands, came back with 
a penitent and sorrowing heart to die at home, but which 
had been lately shown by learned antiquaries to be no 
such thing, as the baron in question (so they contended) 
had died hard in battle, gnashing his teeth and cursing 
with his latest breath, — the bachelor stoutly maintained 
that the old tale was the true one ; that the baron, re- 
penting him of the evil, had done great charities and 
meekly given up the ghost ; and that, if ever baron went 
to heaven, that baron was then at peace. In like man- 
ner, when the aforesaid antiquaries did argue and con- 
tend that a certain secret vault was not the tomb of a 
gray-haired lady who had been hanged and drawn and 
quartered by glorious Queen Bess for succoring a wretched 
priest who fainted of thirst and hunger at her door, the 
bachelor did solemnly maintain, against all comers, that 
the church was hallowed by the said poor lady’s ashes ; 
that her remains had been collected in the night from 
four of the city’s gates, and thither in secret brought, and 
there deposited; and the bachelor did further (being 
highly excited at such times) deny the glory of Queen 
Bess, and assert the immeasurably greater glory of the 
meanest woman in her realm, who had a merciful and 
tender heart. As to the assertion that the flat stone near 
the door was not the grave of the miser who had dis- 
owned his only child and left a sum of money to the 
church to buy a peal of bells, the bachelor did readily 
admit the same, and that the place had given birth to no 
such man. In a word, he would have had every stone, 
and plate of brass, the monument only of deeds whose 
memory should survive. All others he was willing to 
fcrgct. They might be buried in consecrated ground, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


281 


but he would have had them buried deep, and never 
brought to light again. 

It was from the lips of such a tutor, that the child 
learnt her easy task. Already impressed, beyond all 
telling, by the silent building and the peaceful beauty 
of the spot in which it stood — majestic age surrounded 
by perpetual youth — it seemed to her, when she heard 
these things, sacred to all goodness and virtue. It was 
another world, where sin and sorrow never came ; a 
tranquil place of rest, where nothing evil entered. 

When the bachelor had given her in connection with 
almost every tomb and flat gravestone some history of 
its own, he took her down into the old crypt, now a mere 
dull vault, and showed her how it had been lighted up 
in the time of the monks, and how, amid lamps depend- 
ing from the roof, and swinging censers exhaling scented 
odors, and habits glittering with gold and silver, and 
pictures, and precious stuffs, and jewels all flashing and 
glistening through the low arches, the chant of aged 
voices had been many a time heard there, at midnight, 
in old days, while hooded figures knelt and prayed 
around, and told their rosaries of beads. Thence, he 
took her above ground again, and showed her, high up 
in the old w r alls, small galleries, where the nuns had 
been wont to glide along — dimly seen in their dark 
dresses so far off — or to pause like gloomy shadows, 
listening to the prayers. He showed her too, how the 
warriors, whose figures rested on the tombs, had worn 
those rotting scraps of armor up above — how this had 
been a helmet, and that a shield, and that a gauntlet — 
and how they had wielded the great two-handed swords, 
and beaten men down, with yonder iron mace. All that 
he told the child she treasured in her mind ; and some- 


282 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


times, when she awoke at night from dreams of those 
old times, and rising from her bed looked out at the 
dark church, she almost hoped to see the windows lighted 
up, and hear the organ’s swell, and sound of voices, on 
the rushing wind. 

The old sexton soon got better, and was about again 
From him the child learnt many other things, though 
of a different kind. He was not able to work, but one 
day there was a grave to be made, and he came to 
overlook the man who dug it. He was in a talkative 
mood ; and the child, at first standing by his side, 
and afterwards sitting on the grass at his feet, with 
her thoughtful face raised towards his, began to converse 
with him. 

Now, the man who did the sexton’s duty was a little 
older than he, though much more active. But he was 
deaf ; and when the sexton (who peradventure, on a 
pinch, might have walked a mile with great difficulty 
in half a dozen hours) exchanged a remark with him 
about his work, the child could not help noticing that 
he did so with an impatient kind of pity for his in- 
firmity, as if he were himself the strongest and heartiest 
man alive. 

“ I’m sorry to see there is this to do,” said the child, 
when she approached. “ I heard of no one having 
died.” 

“ She lived in another hamlet, my dear,” returned 
the sexton. “Three mile away.” 

**Was she young?” 

VTe — yes,” said the sexton ; “ not more than sixty- 
four, I think. David, was she more than sixty-four?” 

David, who was digging hard, heard nothing of the 
question. The sexton, as he could not reach to touch 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


283 


him with his crutch, and was too infirm to rise without 
assistance, called his attention by throwing a little mould 
upon his red nightcap. 

“ What’s the matter now ? ” said David, looking up. 

“ How old was Becky Morgan ? ” asked the sexton. 

“ Becky Morgan ? ” repeated David. 

“ Yes,” replied the sexton ; adding in a half compas- 
sionate, half irritable tone, which the old man couldn’t 
hear, “ you’re getting very deaf, Davy, very deaf to be 
sure 1 ” 

The old man stopped in his w r ork, and cleansing his 
spade with a piece of slate he had by him for the pur- 
pose — and scraping off, in the process, the essence of 
Heaven knows how many Becky Morgans — set himself 
to consider the subject. 

“ Let me think,” quoth he. il I saw last night what 
they had put upon the coffin — was it seventy-nine ? ” 

“ No, no,” said the sexton. 

“ Ah yes, it was though,” returned the old man with 
a sigh. “ For I remember thinking she was very near 
our age. Yes, it was seventy-nine.” 

“ Are you sure you didn’t mistake a figure, Davy ? ” 
asked the sexton, with signs of some emotion. 

“ What ? ” said the old man. “ Say that again.” 

“ He’s very deaf. He’s very deaf indeed,” cried the 
sexton, petulantly ; “ are you sure you’re right about 
the figures ? ” 

“ Oh quite,” replied the old man. “ Why not ? ” 

“ He’s exceedingly deaf,” muttered the sexton to him- 
self. “ I think he’s getting foolish.” 

The child rather wondered what had led him to this 
belief, as, to say the truth, the old man seemed quite as 
sharp as he, and was infinitely more robust. As the 


284 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


sexton said nothing more just then, however, she forgot 
it for the time, and spoke again. 

“ You were telling me,” she said, u about your garden- 
ing. Do you ever plant things here ? ” 

“ In the church-yard ? ” returned the sexton, “ Not I.” 

“ 1 have seen some flowers and little shrubs about,” 
the child rejoined ; “ there are some over there, you see. 
I thought they were of your rearing, though indeed they 
grow but poorly.” 

“ They grow as Heaven wills,” said the old man ; 
“ and it kindly ordains that they shall never flourish 
here.” 

“ I do not understand you.” 

“ Why, this it is,” said the sexton. “ They mark the 
graves of those who had very tender, loving friends.” 

“ I was sure they did ! ” the child exclaimed. “ I am 
very glad to know they do ! ” 

“ Ay,” returned the old man, “ but stay. Look at 
them. See how they hang their heads, and droop, and 
wither. Do you guess the reason ? ” 

“ No,” the child replied. 

“ Because the memory of those who lie below, passes 
away so soon. At first they tend them, morning, noon, 
and night ; they soon begin to come less frequently ; 
from once a day, to once a week ; from once a week 
to once a month ; then, at long and uncertain inter- 
vals ; then, not at all. Such tokens seldom flourish 
tong. I have known the briefest summer flowers out- 
live them.” 

- “ I grieve to hear it,” said the child 

“ Ah ! so say the gentlefolks who come down here 
to look about them,” returned the old man, shaking 
his head, “ but I say otherwise. 6 It’s a pretty custom 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


285 


you have in this part of the country/ they say to me 
sometimes, ‘ to plant the graves, but it’s melancholy to 
see these things all withering or dead/ I crave their 
pardon and tell them that, as I take it, ’tis a good 
sign for the happiness of the living. And so it is. It’ 
nature.” 

“ Perhaps the mourners learn to look to the blue sky 
by day, and to the stars by night, and to think that the 
dead are there, and not in graves,” said the child in an 
earnest voice. 

“ Perhaps so,” replied the old man doubtfully. “ It 
may be.” 

“ Whether it be as I believe it is, or no,” thought 
the child within herself, “ Pll make this place my gar- 
den. It will be no harm at least to work here day 
by day, and pleasant thoughts will come of it, I am 
sure.” 

Her glowing cheek and moistened eye passed unno- 
ticed by the sexton, who turned towards old David, and 
called him by his name. It was plain that Becky Mor- 
gan’s age still troubled him ; though why, the child 
could scarcely understand. 

The second or third repetition of his name attracted 
the old man’s attention. Pausing from his work, he 
leant on his spade, and put his hand to his dull ear. 

“Did you call?” he said. 

“ I have been thinking, Davy,” replied the sexton 
“ that she,” he pointed to the grave, “ must have beei 
a deal older than you or me.” 

“ Seventy-nine,” answered the old man with a shake 
of the head, “I tell you that I saw it.” 

“ Saw it ? ” replied the sexton ; “ ay, but, Davy, 
women don’t always tell the truth about their age.” 


286 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

“That’s true, indeed,” said the other old man, with 
a sudden sparkle in his eye. u She might have been 
older.” 

“I’m sure she must have been. Why, only think 
how old she looked. You and I seemed but boys to 
her.” 

“ She did look old,” rejoined David. “ You’re right. 
She did look old.” 

“ Call to mind how old she looked for many a long, 
long year, and say if she could be but seventy-nine at 
last — only our age,” said the sexton. 

“ Five year older at the very least ! ” cried the other. 

“ Five ! ” retorted the sexton. “ Ten. Good eighty- 
nine. I call to mind the time her daughter died. She 
was eighty-nine if she was a day, and tries to pass upon 
us now for ten year younger. Oh ! human vanity ! ” 

The other old man was not behindhand with some 
moral reflections on this fruitful theme, and both ad- 
duced a mass of evidence, of such weight as to render it 
doubtful — not whether the deceased was of the age 
suggested, but whether she had not almost reached the 
patriarchal term of a hundred. When they had settled 
this question to their mutual satisfaction, the sexton, 
with his friend’s assistance, rose to go. 

“ It’s chilly, sitting here, and I must be careful — till 
the summer,” he said, as he prepared to limp away. 

What? ” asked old David. 

“ He’s very deaf, poor fellow ! ” cried the sexton. 
“ Good-by.” 

“ Ah ! ” said old David, looking after him. “ He’s 
failing very fast. He ages every day.” 

And so they parted ; each persuaded that the other 
had less life in him than himself ; and both greatly con- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


287 


feoled and comforted by the little fiction they had agreed 
a pon, respecting Becky Morgan, whose decease was no 
longer a precedent of uncomfortable application, and 
would be no business of theirs for half a score of 
years to come. 

Ti e child remained, for some minutes, watching the 
deaf old man as he threw out the earth with his shovel, 
and, often stopping to cough and fetch his breath, still 
muttered to himself, with a kind of sober Chuckle, that 
the sexton was wearing fast. At length she turned 
away, and walking thoughtfully through the church- 
yard, came unexpectedly upon the school-master, who 
was sitting On a green grave in the sun, reading. 

u Nell here?” he said cheerfully, as he closed his 
book. “ It does me good to see you in the air and 
light. I feared you were again in the church, where 
you so often are.” 

“ Feared ! ” replied the child, sitting down beside him. 
“ Is it not a good place ? ” 

“ Yes, yes,” said the school-master. “ But you must 
be gay sometimes - — nay, don’t shake your head and 
smile so sadly.” 

“ Not sadly, if you knew my heart. Do not look at 
me as if you thought me sorrowful. There is not a 
happier creature on the earth, than I am now.” 

Full of grateful tenderness, the child took his hand, 
and folded it between her own. “ It’s God’s will ! ” she 
said, when they had been silent for some time. 

“ What?” 

“ All this,” she rejoined ; “ all this about us. But 
which of us is sad now ? You see that 1 am smil* 
*uig.” 

u And so am I,” said the school-master ; “ smiling to 


288 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


think how often we shall laugh in this same place. 
Were you not talking yonder ?” 

“ Yes,” the child rejoined. 

“ Of something that has made you sorrowful ? ” 

There was a long pause. 

“ What was it ? ” said the school-master, tenderly 
“ Come. Tell me what it was.” 

“ I rather grieve — I do rather grieve to think,” said 
the child, bursting into tears, “ that those who die about 
us, are so soon forgotten.” 

“ And do you think,” said the school-master, marking 
the glance she had thrown around, “that an unvisited 
grave, a withered tree, a faded flower or two, are tokens 
of forgetfulness or cold neglect ? Do you think there 
are no deeds, far away from here, in which these dead 
may be best remembered ? Nell, Nell, there may be 
people busy in the world, at this instant, in whose good 
actions and good thoughts these very graves — neglected 
as they look to us — are the chief instruments.” 

“Tell me no more,” said the child quickly. “Tell 
me no more. I feel, I know it. How could I be un- 
mindful of it, when I thought of you ? ” 

“ There is nothing,” cried her friend, “ no, nothing 
innocent or good, that dies, and is forgotten. Let us 
hold to that faith, or none. An infant, a prattling child, 
dying in iv cradle, will live again in the better thoughts 
of those who loved it, and will play its part, through 
them, in the redeeming actions of the world, though its 
body be burnt to ashes or drowned in the deepest sea. 
There is not an angel added to the Host of Heaven but 
does its blessed work on earth in those that loved it here. 
Forgotten ! oh, if the good deeds of human creatures 
could be traced to their source, how beautiful would 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


289 


even death appear; for how much charity, mercy, and 
purified affection, would be seen to have their growth 
in dusty graves ! ” 

“ Yes,” said the child, “ it is the truth ; I know it is. 
Who should feel its force so much as I, in whom your 
little scholar lives again ! Dear, dear, good friend, if 
you knew the comfort you have given me!” 

The poor school-master made her no answer, but bent 
over her in silence ; for his heart was full. 

They were yet seated in the same place, when the 
grandfather approached. Before they had spoken many 
words together, the church clock struck the hour of 
school, and their friend withdrew. 

“A good man,” said the grandfather, looking after 
him ; “ a kind man. Surely he will never harm us, 
Nell. We are safe here, at last — eh ? We will never 
go away from here ? ” 

The child shook her head and smiled. 

“ She needs rest,” said the old man, patting her 
cheek ; “ too pale — too pale. She is not like what she 
was ? ” 

u When ? ” asked the child. 

“ Ha ! ” said the old man, “ to be sure — when ? How 
many weeks ago ? Could I count them on my fingers ? 
Let them rest though ; they’re better gone.” 

“ Much better, dear,” replied the child. “ We will 
forget them ; or, if we ever call them to mind, it shall 
be only as some uneasy dream that has passed away.” 

u Hush ! ” said the old man, motioning hastily to her 
with his hand and looking over his shoulder ; “ no more 
talk of the dream, and all the miseries it brought. 
There are no dreams here. ’Tis a quiet place, and 
they keep away. Let us never think about them, lest 
19 


vol. n. 


290 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


they should pursue us again. Sunken eyes and hollow 
cheeks — wet, cold, and famine — and horrors before 
them all, that were even worse — we must forget such 
things if we would be tranquil here.” 

“ Thank Heaven ! ” inwardly exclaimed the child, 
“for this most happy change!” 

“ I will be patient,” said the old man, “ humble, 
very thankful and obedient, if you will let me stay. 
But do not hide from me ; do not steal away alone ; let 
me keep beside you. Indeed, I will be very true and 
faithful, Nell.” 

“ I steal away alone ! why that,” replied the child, 
with assumed gayety, “ would be a pleasant jest indeed. 
See here, dear grandfather, we'll make this place our 
garden — why not ! It is a very good one — and to- 
morrow we’ll begin, and work together, side by side.” 

“ It is a brave thought ! ” cried her grandfather. 
“ Mind, darling — we begin to-morrow ! ” 

Who so delighted as the old man, when they next 
day began their labor ! Who so unconscious of all 
associations connected with the spot, as he ! They 
plucked the long grass and nettles from the tombs, 
thinned the poor shrubs and roots, made the turf 
smooth, and cleared it of the leaves and weeds. They 
were yet in the ardor of their work, when the child, 
raising her head from the ground over which she bent, 
observed that the bachelor was sitting on the stile close 
by, watching them in silence. 

“ A kind office,” said the little gentleman, nodding to 
Nell as she courtesied to him. “ Have you done all that, 
this morning ? ” 

“ It is very little, sir,” returned the child, with down- 
cast eyes, “ to what we mean to do.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


291 


“ Good work, good work,” said the bachelor. “ But 
do you only labor at the graves of children, and young 
people ? ” 

“We shall come to the others in good time, sir,” re- 
plied Nell, turning her head aside, and speaking softly. 

It was a slight incident, and might have been design, 
or accident, or the child's unconscious sympathy with 
youth. But it seemed to strike upon her grandfather, 
though he had not noticed it before. He looked in a 
hurried manner at the graves, then anxiously at the 
child, then pressed her to his side, and bade her stop to 
rest. Something he had long forgotten, appeared to 
struggle faintly in his mind. It did not pass away, as 
weightier things had done ; but came uppermost again, 
and yet again, and many times that day, and often after- 
wards. Once, while they were yet at work, the child, 
seeing that he often turned and looked uneasily at her, 
as though he were trying to resolve some painful doubts 
or collect some scattered thoughts, urged him to tell the 
reason. But he said it was nothing — nothing — and, 
laying her head upon his arm, patted her fair cheek 
with his hand, and muttered that she grew stronger 
every day, and would be a womau, soon. 


292 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LV. 

From that time, there sprung up in the old man’s 
mind, a solicitude about the child which never slept 
or left him. There are chords in the human heart — 
strange, varying strings — which are only struck by 
accident ; which will remain mute and senseless to ap- 
peals the most passionate and earnest, and respond at 
last to the slightest casual touch. In the most insensi- 
ble or childish minds, there is some train of reflection 
which art can seldom lead, or skill attest, but which 
will reveal itself, as great truths have done, by chance, 
and when the discoverer has the plainest and simplest 
end in view. From that time, the old man never, for 
a moment, forgot the weakness and devotion of the 
child; from the time of that slight incident, he, who 
had seen her toiling by his side through so much 
difficulty and suffering, and had scarcely thought of 
her otherwise than as the partner of miseries which 
he felt severely in his own person, and deplored for 
lis own sake at least as much as hers, awoke to a 
sense of what he owed her, and what those miseries 
had made her. Never, no, never once, in one un- * 
guarded moment from that time to the end, did any 
care for himself, any thought of his own comfort, any 
selfish consideration or regard, distract his thoughts 
from the gentle object of his love. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


293 


He would follow her up and down, waiting till she 
gliould tire and lean upon his arm — he would sit op- 
posite to her in the chimney-corner, content to watch, 
and look, until she raised her head and smiled upon 
him as of old — he would discharge by stealth, those 
household duties which tasked her powers too heavilj 
— - he would rise, in the cold dark nights, to listen t 
her breathing in her sleep, and sometimes crouch for 
hours by her bedside only to touch her hand. He 
who knows all, can only know what hopes, and fears, 
and thoughts of deep affection, were in that one dis- 
ordered brain, and what a change had fallen on the 
poor old man. 

Sometimes — weeks had crept on, then — the child, 
exhausted, though with little fatigue, would pass whole 
evenings on a couch beside the fire. At such times, 
the school-master would bring in books, and read to 
her aloud ; and seldom an evening passed, but the 
bachelor came in, and took his turn of reading. The 
old man sat and listened, — with little understanding 
for the words, but with his eyes fixed upon the child, 
— and if she smiled or brightened with the story, he 
would say it was a good one, and conceive a fondness 
for the very book. When, in their evening talk, the 
bachelor told some tale that pleased her (as his tales 
were sure to do), the old man would painfully try to 
store it in his mind ; nay, when the bachelor left them 
he would sometimes slip out after him, and humbly beg 
that he would tell him such a part again, that he might 
learn to win a smile from Nell. 

But these were rare occasions, happily ; for the child 
yearned to be out of doors, and walking in her solemn 
garden. Parties, too, would come to see the church ; 


294 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


and those who came, speaking to others of the child, 
sent more ; so even at that season of the year they 
had visitors almost daily. The old man would follow 
them at a little distance through the building, listening 
to the voice he loved so well ; and when the strangers 
left, and parted from Nell, he would mingle with them 
to catch up fragments of their conversation ; or he would 
stand for the same purpose, with his gray head un- 
covered, at the gate, as they passed through. 

They always praised the child, her sense and beauty, 
and he was proud to hear them ! But what was that, 
so often added, w T hich wrung his heart, and made him 
sob and weep alone, in some dull corner ! Alas ! even 
careless strangers — they who had no feeling for her, 
but the interest of the moment — they who would go 
away and forget next week that such a being lived — 
even they saw it *— even they pitied her — even they 
bade him good-day compassionately, and whispered as 
they passed. 

The people of the village, too, of whom there was 
not one but grew to have a fondness for poor Nell ; 
even among them, there was the same feeling ; a ten- 
derness towards her — a compassionate regard for her, 
increasing every day. The very school-boys, light- 
hearted and thoughtless as they were, even they cared 
for her. The roughest among them was sorry if he 
missed her in the usual place upon his way to school, 
and would turn out of the path to ask for her at the 
latticed window. If she were sitting in the church, 
they perhaps might peep in softly at the open door ; 
but they never spoke to her, unless she rose and went 
to speak to them. Some feeling was abroad which 
raised the child above them all. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


295 


So, when Sunday came. They were all poor coun- 
try people in the church, for the castle in which the 
old family had lived, was an empty ruin, and there 
were none but humble folks for seven miles around. 
There, as elsewhere, they had an interest in Nell. 
They would gather round her in the porch, before 
and after service; young children would cluster at her 
skirts ; and aged men and women forsake their gossips, 
to give her kindly greeting. None of them, young or 
old, thought of passing the child without a friendly 
word. Many who came from three or four miles dis- 
tant, brought her little presents ; the humblest and 
rudest had good wishes to bestow. 

She had sought out the young children whom she 
first saw playing in the church-yard. One of these — 
he who had spoken of his brother — was her little fa- 
vorite and friend, and often sat by her side in the 
church, or climbed with her to the tower-top. It was 
his delight to help her, or to fancy that he did so, 
and they soon became close companions. 

It happened, that, as she was reading in the old 
spot by herself one day, this child came running in 
with his eyes full of tears, and after holding her from 
him, and looking at her eagerly for a moment, clasped 
his little arms passionately about her neck. 

“ What now ? ” said Nell, soothing him. “ What is 
the matter ? ” 

“ She is not one yet ! ” cried the boy, embracing her 
still more closely. “No, no. Not yet.” 

She looked at him wonderingly, and putting his hair 
back from his face, and kissing him, asked what he 
meant. 

“You must not be one, dear Nell,” cried the boy. 


296 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“We can’t see them. They never come to play with 
us, or talk to us. Be what you are. You are better 
so.” 

“ I do not understand you,” said the child. “ Tell 
me what you mean.” 

“ Why, they say,” replied the boy, looking up into 
her face, “ that you will be an Angel, before the birds 
sing again. But you won’t be, will you ? Don’t leave 
us, Nell, though the sky is bright. Do not leave us ! ” 

The child dropped her head, and put her hands before 
her face. 

“ She cannot bear the thought ! ” cried the boy, exult- 
ing through his tears. “You will not go. You know 
how sorry we should be. Dear Nell, tell me that you’ll 
stay amongst us. Oh ! Pray, pray, tell me that you 
will.” 

The little creature folded his hands, and knelt down at 
her feet. 

“ Only look at me, Nell,” said the boy, “ and tell me 
that you’ll stop, and then I shall know that they are 
wrong, and will cry no more. Won’t you say yes, 
Nell?” 

Still the drooping head and hidden face, and the child 
quite silent — save for her sobs. 

“ After a time,” pursued the boy, trying to draw away 
her hand, “ the kind angels will be glad to think that you 
are not among them, and that you stayed here to be with 
us. Willy went away, to join them ; but if he had known 
how I should miss him in our little bed at night, he 
never would have left me, I am sure.” 

Yet the child could make him no answer, and sobbed 
os though her heart were bursting. 

“ Why would you go, dear Nell ? I know you would 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


297 


not be happy when you heard that we were crying for 
your loss. They say that Willy is in heaven now, and 
that it’s always summer there, and yet I’m sure he 
grieves when I lie down upon his garden bed, and he 
cannot turn to kiss me. But if you do go, Nell,” said 
the boy, caressing her, and pressing his face to hers, “ bo 
fond of him for my sake. Tell him how I love him still, 
and how much I loved you ; and when I think that you 
two are together, and are happy, I’ll try to bear it, and 
never give you pain by doing wrong — indeed I never 
will!” 

The child suffered him to move her hands, and put 
them round his neck. There was a tearful silence, but 
it was not long before she looked upon him with a smile, 
and promised him in a very gentle quiet voice, that she 
would stay, and be his friend as long as Heaven would 
let her. He clapped his hands for joy, and thanked her 
many times ; and being charged to tell no person what 
had passed between them, gave her an earnest promise 
that he never would. 

Nor did he, so far as the child could learn ; but was 
her quiet companion in all her walks and musings, and 
never again adverted to the theme, which he felt had 
given her pain, although he was unconscious of its 
cause. Something of distrust lingered about him still ; 
for he would often come, even in the dark evenings, and 
call in a timid voice outside the door to know if she 
were safe within ; and being answered yes, and bade to 
enter, would take his station on a low stool x at her feet, 
and sit there patiently until they came to seek, and take 
him home. Sure as the morning came, it found him 
lingering near the house to ask if she w T ere well; and, 
morning, noon, or night, go where she would, he would 


298 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


-forsake his playmates and his sports to bear her com- 
pany. 

“ And a good little friend he is, too,” said the old sex- 
ton to her once. “ When his elder brother died — elder 
seems a strange word, for he was only seven year old — 
I remember this one took it sorely to heart.” 

The child thought of what the schoolmaster had told 
her, and felt how its truth was shadowed out even in this 
infant. 

u It has given him something of a quiet way, I think,” 
said the old man, “ though for that he is merry enough 
at times. I’d wager now that you and he have been 
listening by the old well.” 

“ Indeed we have not,” the child replied. “I have 
been afraid to go near it ; for I am not often down in 
that part of the church, and do not know the ground.” 

“ Come down with me,” said the old man. “ I have 
known it from a boy. Come ! ” 

They descended the narrow steps which led into the 
crypt, and paused among the gloomy arches, in a dim 
and murky spot. 

“ This is the place,” said the old man. “ Give me 
your hand while you throw back the cover, lest you 
should stumble and fall in. I am too old — I mean 
rheumatic — to stoop, myself.” 

“ A black and dreadful place ! ” exclaimed the child. 

“ Look in,” said the old man, pointing downward with 
his finger. 

The child .complied, and gazed down into the pit. 

“ It looks like a grave itself,” said the old man. 

“ It does,” replied the child. 

u I have often had the fancy,” said the sexton, “ that 
it might have been dug at first to make the old place 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


299 


more gloomy, and tlie old monks more religious. It’s to 
be closed up, and built over. ,, 

The child still stood, looking thoughtfully into the 
vault. 

“We shall see,” said the sexton, “ on what gay heads 
other earth will have closed, when the light is shut out 
from here. God knows ! They’ll close it up, next 
spring.” 

“ The birds sing again in spring,” thought the child, as 
she leaned at her casement window, and gazed at the 
declining sun. “ Spring! a beautiful and happy time !” 




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THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 

AND REPRINTED PIECES. 


VOLUME III. 























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THE 


OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LVI. 

A day or two after the Quilp tea-party at the Wil- 
derness, Mr. Swiveller walked into Sampson Brass's 
office at the usual hour, and being alone in that Temple 
of Probity, placed his hat upon the desk, and taking 
from his pocket a small parcel of black crape, applied 
himself to folding and pinning the same upon it, after 
the manner of a hat-band. Having completed the con- 
struction of this appendage, he surveyed his work with 
great complacency, and put his hat on again — very 
much over one eye to increase the mournfulness of 
the effect. These arrangements perfected to his en- 
tire satisfaction, he thrust his hands into his pockets, 
and walked up and down the office with measured 
steps. 

“It has always been the same with me,” said Mr. 
Swiveller, “ always. ’Twas ever thus, from childhood’s 
hour I’ve seen my fondest hopes decay, I never loved a 
tree or flower but ’twas the first to fade away ; I never 
nursed a dear gazelle, to glad me with its soft black eye, 
but when it came to know me well, and love me, it was 
sure to marry a market-gardener.” 


8 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Overpowered by these reflections, Mr. Swiveller 
stopped short at the clients’ chair, and flung himself 
into its open arms. 

“ And this,” said Mr. Swiveller, with a kind of ban- 
tering composure, “is life, I believe. Oh, certainly. 
Why not! I’m quite satisfied. I shall wear,” added 
Richard, taking off his hat again and looking hard at it, 
as if he were only deterred by pecuniary considerations 
from spurning it with his foot, “ I shall wear this em- 
blem of woman’s perfidy, in remembrance of her with 
whom I shall never again thread the windings of the 
mazy ; whom I shall never more pledge in the rosy ; 
who, during the short remainder of my existence, will 
murder the balmy. Ha, ha, ha ! ” 

It may be necessary to observe, lest there should ap- 
pear any incongruity in the close of this soliloquy, that 
Mr. Swiveller did not wind up with a cheerful hilarious 
laugh, which would have been undoubtedly at variance 
with his solemn reflections, but that, being in a theatrical 
mood, he merely achieved that performance which is 
designated in melodramas “laughing like a fiend,” — 
for it seems that your fiends always laugh in syllables, 
and always in three syllables, never more nor less, which 
is a remarkable property in such gentry, and one wor- 
thy of remembrance. 

The baleful sounds had hardly died away, and Mr. 
Swiveller was still sitting in a very grim state in the 
clients’ chair, when there came a ring — or, if we may 
adapt the sound to his then humor, a knell — at the 
office bell. Opening the door with all speed, he beheld 
the expressive countenance of Mr. Chuckster, between 
whom and himself a fraternal greeting ensued. 

“You’re devilish early at this pestiferous old slaugh- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


9 


ter-house,” said that gentleman, poising himself on one 
leg, and shaking the other in an easy manner. 

44 Rather,” returned Dick. 

44 Rather ! ” retorted Mr. Chuckster, with an air of 
graceful trifling which so well became him. “1 should 
think so. Why, my good feller, do you know what 
o’clock it is — half-past nine A. m. in the morning ? J 

44 Won’t you come in ? ” said Dick. 44 All alone. 
Swiveller solus. 4 ’ Tis now the witching ’ ” — 

44 4 Hour of night ! ’ ” 

44 4 When church-yards yawn,’ ” 

44 4 And graves give up their dead.’ ” 

At the end of this quotation in dialogue, each gentle 
man struck an attitude, and immediately subsiding into 
prose, walked into the office. Such morsels of enthusi- 
asm were common among the Glorious Apollos, and 
were indeed the links that bound them together, and 
raised them above the cold dull earth. 

44 Well, and how are you my buck?” said Mr. Chuck- 
ster, taking a stool. 44 I was forced to come into the city 
upon some little private matters of my own, and couldn’t 
pass the corner of the street without looking in, but upon 
my soul I didn’t expect to find you. It is so everlast- 
ingly early.” 

Mr. Swiveller expressed his acknowledgments; and 
it appearing on further conversation that he was in good 
health, and that Mr. Chuckster was in the like envia- 
ble condition, both gentlemen, in compliance with a sol 
emn custom of the ancient Brotherhood to which they 
belonged, joined in a fragment of the popular duet of 
44 All’s Well,” with a long shake at the end. 

*• And what’s the news ? ” said Richard. 

44 The town’s as flat, my dear feller,” replied Mr. 


10 


THE OLD CURIOSITT SHOP. 


Chuckster, “as the surface of a Dutch oven. There’s 
no news. By-the-by, that lodger of yours is a most 
extraordinary person. He quite eludes the most vigo- 
rous comprehension, you know. Never was such a 
feller ! ” 

“ What has he been doing now ? ” said Dick. 

“By Jove, sir,” returned Mr. Chuckster, taking out 
an oblong snuff-box, the lid whereof was ornamented 
with a fox’s head curiously carved in brass, “ that man 
is an unfathomable. Sir, that man has made friends 
with our articled clerk. There’s no harm in him, but 
he is so amazingly slow and soft. Now, if he wanted a 
friend, why couldn’t he have one that knew a thing or 
two, and could do him some good by his manners and 
conversation. I have my faults, sir,” said Mr. Chuck- 
ster. — 

“ No, no,” interposed Mr. Swiveller. 

“ Oh yes I have, I have my faults, no man knows his 
faults better than I know mine. But,” said Mr. Chuck- 
ster, “ I’m not meek. My worst enemies — every man 
has his enemies, sir, and I have mine — never accused 
me of being meek. And I tell you what, sir, if I hadn’t 
more of these qualities that commonly endear man to 
man, than our articled clerk has, I’d steal a Cheshire 
cheese, tie it round my neck, and drown myself. I’d die 
degraded, as I had lived. I would upon my honor.” 

Mr. Chuckster paused, rapped the fox’s head exactly 
on the nose with the knuckle of the forefinger, took a 
pinch of snuff, and looked steadily at Mr. Swiveller, as 
much as to say that if he thought he was going to sneeze, 
he would find himself mistaken. 

“ Not contented, sir,” said Mr. Chuckster, “ with mak- 
ing friends with Abel, he has cultivated the acquaint* 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


11 


ance of his father and mother. Since he came home 
from that wild-goose chase, he has been there — actually 
been there. He patronizes young Snobby besides ; 
you’ll find, sir, that he’ll be constantly coming backwards 
and forwards to this place : yet I don’t suppose that 
beyond the common forms of civility, he has ever ex- 
changed half a dozen words with me. Now, upon my 
soul, you know,” said Mr. Chuckster, shaking his head 
gravely, as men are wont to do when they consider 
things are going a little too far, “ this is altogether such 
a low-minded affair, that if I didn’t feel for the governor, 
and know that he could never get on without me, I 
should be obliged to cut the connection. I should have 
no alternative.” 

Mr. Swiveller, who sat on another stool opposite to 
his friend, stirred the fire in an excess of sympathy, but 
said nothing. 

“ As to young Snob, sir,” pursued Mr. Chuckster with 
a prophetic look, “ you’ll find he’ll turn out bad. In our 
profession we know something of human nature, and 
take my word for it, that the feller that came back to 
work out that shilling, will show himself one of these 
days in his true colors. He’s a low thief, sir. He must 
be.” 

Mr. Chuckster being roused, would probably have 
pursued this subject further, and in more emphatic lan- 
guage, but for a tap at the door, which seeming to an- 
nounce the arrival of somebody on business, caused him 
to assume a greater appearance of meekness than was 
perhaps quite consistent with his late declaration. Mr. 
Swiveller, hearing the same sound, caused his stool to 
revolve rapidly on one leg until it brought him to his 
desk, into which, having forgotten in the sudden flurry 


12 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


of his spirits to part with the poker, he thrust it as he 
cried “ Come in ! ” 

Who should present himself but that very Kit who 
had been the theme of Mr. Chuckster’s wrath ! Never 
did man pluck up his courage so quickly, or look so 
fierce, as Mr. Chuckster when he found it was he. Mr. 
Swiveller stared at him for a moment, and then leaping 
from his stool, and drawing out the poker from its place 
of concealment, performed the broadsword exercise with 
all the cuts and guards complete, in a species of frenzy. 

“ Is the gentleman at home ? ” said Kit, rather aston- 
ished by this uncommon reception. 

Before Mr. Swiveller could make any reply, Mr. 
Chuckster took occasion to enter his indignant protest 
against this form of inquiry ; which he held to be of a 
disrespectful and snobbish tendency, inasmuch as the 
inquirer, seeing two gentlemen then and there present, 
should have spoken of the other gentleman ; or rather 
(for it was not impossible that the object of his search 
might be of inferior quality) should have mentioned his 
name, leaving it to his hearers to determine his degree as 
they thought proper. Mr. Chuckster likewise remarked, 
that he had some reason to believe this form of address 
was personal to himself, and that he was not a man to 
be trifled with — as certain snobs (whom he did not more 
particularly mention or describe) might find to their cost. 

“I mean the gentleman up-stairs,” said Kit, turning 
to Richard Swiveller. “ Is he at home ? ” 

“ Why ? ” rejoined Dick. 

“ Because if he is, I have a letter for him.” 

“ From whom ? ” said Dick. 

“ From Mr. Garland.” 

w Oh ! ” said Dick, with extreme politeness. “ Then 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


13 


you may hand it over, sir. And if you’re to wait for 
an answer, sir, you may wait in the passage, sir, whic T . 
is an airy and well-ventilated apartment, sir.” 

“Thank you,” returned Kit. “But I am to give it 
to himself, if you please.” 

The excessive audacity of this retort so overpowered 
Mr. Chuckster, and so moved his tender regard for his 
friend’s honor, that he declared, if he were not restrained 
by official considerations, he must certainly have anni- 
hilated Kit upon the spot ; a resentment of the affront 
which he did consider, under the extraordinary circum- 
stances of aggravation attending it, could not but have 
met with the proper sanction and approval of a jury of 
Englishmen, who, he had no doubt, would have returned 
a verdict of Justifiable Homicide, coupled with a high 
testimony to the morals and character of the Avenger. 
Mr. Swiveller, without being quite so hot upon the mat- 
ter, was rather shamed by his friend’s excitement, and 
not a little puzzled how to act (Kit being quite cool and 
good humored), when the single gentleman was heard 
to call violently down the stairs. 

“ Didn’t I see somebody for me, come in ? ” cried the 
lodger. 

“Yes, sir,” replied Dick. “ Certainly, sir.” 

“ Then where is he ? ” roared the single gentleman. 

“ He’s here, sir,” rejoined Mr. Swiveller. “ Now young 
man, don’t you hear you’re to go up-stairs ? Are you 
deaf : ” 

Kit did not appear to think it worth his while to 
isnter into any altercation, but hurried off and left the 
Glorious Apollos gazing at each other in silence. 

“ Didn’t I tell you so ? ” said Mr. Chuckster. “ What 
do you think of that ? ” 


14 


THE OLD CURIOSITY gHOP. 


Mr. Swiveller being in the main a good-natured fel- 
low, and not perceiving in the conduct of Kit any vil- 
lany of enormous magnitude, scarcely knew what answer 
to return. He was relieved from his perplexity, however, 
by the entrance of Mr. Sampson and his sister, Sally, 
at sight of whom Mr. Chuckster precipitately retired. 

Mr. Brass and his lovely companion appeared to have 
been holding a consultation over their temperate break 
fast, upon some matter of great interest and importance. 
On the occasion of such conferences, they generally ap- 
peared in the office some half an hour after their usual 
time, and in a very smiling state, as though their late 
plots and designs had tranquillized their minds and 
shed a light upon their toilsome way. In the present 
instance, they seemed particularly gay; Miss Sally’s 
aspect being of a most oily kind, and Mr. Brass rubbing 
his hands in an exceedingly jocose and light-hearted 
manner. 

“Well, Mr. Richard,” said Brass. “ How are we this 
morning ? Are we pretty fresh and cheerful sir — eh, 
Mr. Richard?” 

“ Pretty well sir,” replied Dick. 

“ That’s well,” said Brass. “ Ha, ha ! We should be 
as gay as larks Mr. Richard — why not ? It’s a pleasant 
world we live in sir, a very pleasant world. There are 
bad people in it Mr. Richard ; but if there were nc 
bad people, there would be no good lawyers. Ha, ha 
Any letters by the post this morning, Mr. Richard ? ” 

Mr. Swiveller answered in the negative. 

“Ha!” said Brass, “no matter. If there’s little busi- 
ness to-day, there’ll be more to-morrow. A contented 
spirit, Mr. Richard, is the sweetness of existence. Any- 
body been here, sir?” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


15 


44 Only my friend ” — replied Dick. “ 4 May we ne’er 
want a ’ ” — 

44 4 Friend/ ” Brass chimed in quickly, 44 4 or a bottle to 
give him.’ Ha, ha ! That’s the way the song runs, 

isn’t it ? A very good song, Mr. Richard, very good. 

I like the sentiment of it. Ha, ha I Your friend’s 

the young man from Witherden’s office I think — yes 

— 4 May we ne’er want a ’ — Nobody else at all, been* 
Mr. Richard ? ” 

“ Only somebody to the lodger,” replied Mr. Swiv- 
eller. 

44 Oh indeed ! ” cried Brass. 44 Somebody to the lodger, 
eh ? Ha, ha ! 4 May we ne’er want a friend, or a’ — 
Somebody to the lodger, eh Mr. Richard ? ” 

44 Yes,” said Dick, a little disconcerted by the exces- 
sive buoyancy of spirits which his employer displayed. 
44 With him now.” 

44 With him now ! ” cried Brass ; 44 Ha, ha ! There 
let ’em be, merry and free, toor rul lol le. Eh, Mr 
Richard? Ha, ha!” 

44 Oh certainly,” replied Dick. 

44 And who,” said Brass, shuffling among his papers, 
44 who is the lodger’s visitor — not a lady visitor I hope, 
eh Mr. Richard? The morals of the Marks you know 
sir — 4 when lovely woman stoops to folly ’ — and all 
that — eh Mr. Richard ? ” 

44 Another young man, who belongs to Witherden’s 
too, or half belongs there,” returned Richard. 44 Kit, 
they call him.” 

44 Kit, eh ! ” said Brass. 44 Strange name — name of 
9 dancing-master’s fiddle, eh Mr. Richard ? Ha, ha ! 
Kit’s there, is he ? Oh ! ” 

Dick looked at Miss Sally, wondering that she didn’t 


16 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


check this uncommon exuberance on the part of Mr. 
*Sampson ; but as she made no attempt to do so, and 
rather appeared to exhibit a tacit acquiescence in it, he 
concluded that they had just been cheating somebody, 
and receiving the bill. 

“ Will you have the goodness, Mr. Richard,” said 
Brass, taking a letter from his desk, “ just to step over 
to Peckliam Rye with that ? There’s no answer, but 
it’s rather particular and should go by hand. Charge 
the office with your coach-hire back, you know ; don’t 
spare the office ; get as much out of it as you can — 
clerk’s motto — Eh Mr. Richard ? Ha, ha ! ” 

Mr. Swiveller solemnly doffed the aquatic jacket, put 
on his coat, took down his hat from its peg, pocketed the 
letter, and departed. As soon as he was gone, uprose 
Miss Sally Brass, and smiling sweetly at her brother 
(who nodded and smote his nose in return) withdrew 
also. 

Sampson Brass was no sooner left alone, than he set 
the office-door wide open, and establishing himself at his 
desk directly opposite, so that he could not fail to see 
anybody who came down-stairs and passed out at the 
street-door, began to write with extreme cheerfulness 
and assiduity ; humming as he did so, in a voice that 
was anything but musical, certain vocal snatches which 
appeared to have reference to the union between Church 
and State, inasmuch as they were compounded of the 
Evening Hymn and God save the King. 

Thus, the attorney of Bevis Marks sat, and wrote, 
and hummed, for a long time, except when he stopped 
to listen with a very cunning face, and hearing noth- 
ing, went on humming louder, and writing slower than 
ever. At length, in one of these pauses, he heard his 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


17 


lodger’s door opened and shut, and footsteps coming 
down the stairs. Then, Mr. Brass left off writing en- 
tirely, and, with his pen in his hand, hummed his very 
loudest; shaking his head meanwhile from side to side, 
like a man whose whole soul was in the music, and 
smiling in a manner quite seraphic. 

It was towards this moving spectacle that the stair- 
case and the sweet sounds guided Kit : on whose arrival 
before his door, Mr. Brass stopped his singing, but not 
his smiling, and nodded affably : at the same time beck- 
oning tow him with his pen. 

“ Kit,” said Mr. Brass, in the pleasantest way imagin- 
able, “ how do you do ? ” 

Kit, being rather shy of his friend, made a suitable 
reply, and had his hand upon the lock of the street 
door when Mr. Brass called him softly back. 

“ You are not to go, if you please, Kit,” said the 
attorney in a mysterious and yet business-like way. 
“ You are to step in here, if you please. Dear me, 
dear me ! When I look at you,” said the lawyer, quit- 
ting his stool, and standing before the fire with his back 
towards it, “I am reminded of the sweetest little face 
that ever my eyes beheld. I remember your coming 
there, twice or thrice, when we were in possession. Ah 
Kit, my dear fellow, gentlemen in my profession have 
such painful duties to perform sometimes, that you 
needn’t envy us — you needn’t indeed ! ” 

“ I don’t sir,” said Kit, “ though it isn’t for the like 
«>f me to judge.” 

“ Our only consolation, Kit,” pursued the lawyer, look- 
ing at him in a sort of pensive abstraction, “is, that al- 
though we cannot turn away the wind, we can soften it ; 
we can temper it, if I may say so, to the shorn lambs.’' 
2 


VOL. III. 


18 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Shorn indeed ! ” thought Kit. “ Pretty close ! ” But 
he didn’t say so. 

“ On that occasion, Kit,” said Mr. Brass, u on that oc- 
casion that I have just alluded to, I had a hard battle 
with Mr. Quilp (for Mr. Quilp is a very hard man) to 
obtain them the indulgence they had. It might have 
cost me a client. But suffering virtue inspired me, and 
I prevailed.” 

“ He’s not so bad after all,” thought honest Kit, as the 
attorney pursed up his lips and looked like a man who 
was struggling with his better feelings. m 

“ I respect you, Kit,” said Brass with emotion. “I 
saw enough of your conduct, at that time, to respect you, 
though your station is humble, and your fortune lowly. 
It isn’t the waistcoat that I look at. It is the heart. 
The checks in the waistcoat are but the wires of the 
cage. But the heart is the bird. Ah ! How many sich 
birds are perpetually moulting, and putting their beaks 
through the wires to peck at all mankind ! ” 

This poetic figure, which Kit took to be in special 
allusion to his own checked waistcoat, quite overcame 
him ; Mr. Brass’s voice and manner added not a little- to 
its effect, for he discoursed with all the mild austerity of 
a hermit, and wanted but a cord round the waist of his 
rusty surtout, and a skull on the chimney-piece, to be 
completely set up in that line of business. 

“ Well, well,” said Sampson, smiling as good men 
smile when they compassionate their own weakness or 
that of their fellow-creatures, “ this is wide of the bull’s- 
eye. You’re to take that, if you please.” As he spoke, 
he pointed to a couple of half-crowns on the desk. 

Kit looked at the coins, and then at Sampson, and 
hesitated. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


19 


“ For yourself,” said Brass. 

“ From ” 

u No matter about the person they came from,” replied 
the lawyer. “ Say me, if you like. We have eccentric 
friends overhead, Kit, and we mustn’t ask questions or 
talk too much — you understand ? You’re to take them, 
that’s all ; and between you and me, I don’t think they’ll 
be the last you’ll have to take from the same place. I 
hope not. Good-by, Kit. Good-by ! ” 

With many thanks, and many more self-reproaches 
for having on such slight grounds suspected one who in 
their very first conversation turned out such a different 
man from what he had supposed, Kit took the money 
and made the best of his way home. Mr. Brass re- 
mained airing himself at the fire, and resumed his vocal 
exercise, and his seraphic smile simultaneously. 

“ May I come in ? ” said Miss Sally, peeping. 

“ Oh yes, you may come in,” returned her brother. 

“ Ahem ? ” coughed Miss Brass interrogatively. 

“Why, yes,” returned Sampson, “I should say as 
good as done.” 


20 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LVII. 

Mr. Chuckster’s indignant apprehensions were not 
without foundation. Certainly the friendship between 
the single gentleman and Mr. Garland was not suffered 
to cool, but had a rapid growth and flourished exceed- 
ingly. They were soon in habits of constant intercourse 
and communication ; and the single gentleman laboring 
at this time under a slight attack of illness — the conse- 
quence most probably of his late excited feelings and 
subsequent disappointment — furnished a reason for their 
holding yet more frequent correspondence ; so, that some 
one of the inmates of Abel Cottage, Finchley, came back- 
wards and forwards between that place and Bevis Marks, 
almost every day. 

As the pony had now thrown off all disguise, and 
without any mincing of the matter or beating about the 
bush, sturdily refused to be driven by anybody but Kit, 
it generally happened that whether old Mr. Garland 
came, or Mr. Abel, Kit was of the party. Of all mes- 
sages and inquiries, Kit was, in right of his position, the 
bearer ; thus it came about that, while the single gentle- 
man remained indisposed, Kit turned into Bevis Marks 
every morning with nearly as much regularity as the 
general postman. 

Mr. Sampson Brass, who no doubt had his reasons for 
looking sha/’ply about him, soon learnt to distinguish the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


21 

pony’s trot and the clatter of the little chaise at the cor- 
ner of the street. Whenever this sound reached his 
ears, he would immediately lay down hjs pen and fall to 
rubbing his hands and exhibiting the greatest glee. 

“ Ha, ha ! ” he would cry. “ Here’s the pony again ! 
Most remarkable pony, extremely docile, eh, Mr. Rich- 
ard, eh, sir?” 

Dick w r ould return some matter-of-course reply, and 
Mr. Brass, standing on the bottom rail of his stool, so as 
to get a view of the street over the top of the window- 
blind, would take an observation of the visitors. 

“ The old gentleman again ! ” he would exclaim, “ a 
very*prepossessing old gentleman, Mr. Richard — charm- 
ing countenance, sir — extremely calm — benevolence in 
every feature, sir. He quite realizes my idea of King 
Lear, as he appeared when in possession of his kingdom, 
Mr. Richard — the same good-humor, the same white 
hair and partial baldness, the same liability to be im- 
posed upon. Ah ! A sweet subject for contemplation, 
sir, very sweet ! ” 

Then, Mr. Garland having alighted and gone up-stairs, 
Sampson would nod and smile to Kit from the window, 
and presently walk out into the^street to greet him, when 
some such conversation as the following would ensue. 

“ Admirably groomed, Kit” — Mr. Brass is patting 
the pony — “ does you great credit — amazingly sleek 
and bright to be sure. He literally looks as if he had 
been varnished all over.” 

Kit touches his hat, smiles, pats the pony himself, and 
expresses his conviction, “ that Mr. Brass will not find 
many like him.” 

“ A beautiful animal indeed ! ” cries Brass. “ Saga- 
cious too ? ” 


22 


THj£ OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Bless you ! ” replies Kit. “ he knows what voa say 
him as well as a Christian does.” 

“ Does he indeed ! ” cries Brass, who has heard the 
same thing in the same place from the same person in 
the same words a dozen times, but is paralyzed with 
astonishment notwithstanding, “ Dear me ! ” 

“ I little thought the first time I saw him, sir,” says 
Kit, pleased with the attorney’s strong interest in his 
favorite, “ that I should come to be as intimate with him 
as I am now.” 

“ Ah ! ” rejoins Mr. Brass, brim-full of moral precepts 
and love of virtue. “A charming subject of reflection 
for you, very charming. A subject of proper pride* and 
congratulation, Christopher. Honesty is the best policy. 
— I always find it so myself. I lost forty-seven pound 
ten by being honest this morning. But it’s all gain, it’s 
gain ! ” 

Mr. Brass slyly tickles his nose with his pen, and 
looks at Kit with the water standing in his eyes. Kit 
thinks that if ever there was a good man wdio belied his 
appearance, that man is Sampson Brass. 

“A man,” says Sampson, “ who loses forty-seven pound 
ten in one morning by his honesty, is a man to be envied. 
If it had been eighty pound, the luxuriousness of feeling 
would have been increased. Every pound lost, would 
have been a hundredweight of happiness gained. The 
still small voice, Christopher,” cries Brass, smiling, and 
tapping himself on the bosom, “ is a singing comic songa 
within me, and all is happiness and joy ! ” 

Kit is so improved by the conversation, and finds it go 
so completely home to his feelings, that he is considering 
what he shall say, when Mr. Garland appears. The old 
gentleman is helped into the chaise with great obsequious 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


23 


ness by Mr. Sampson Brass ; and the pony, after shak- 
ing his head several times, and standing for three or four 
minutes with all his four legs planted firmly on the 
ground, as if he had made up his mind never to stir 
from that spot, but there to live and die, suddenly darts 
off, without the smallest notice, at the rate of twelve 
English miles an hour. Then, Mr. Brass and his sister 
(vrho has joined him at the door) exchange an odd kind 
of smile — not at all a pleasant one in its expression — 
and return to the society of Mr. Richard Swiveller, who, 
during their absence, has been regaling himself with 
various feats of pantomime, and is discovered at his desk, 
in a very flushed and heated condition, violently scratch- 
ing out nothing with half a penknife. 

Whenever Kit came alone, and without the chaise, it 
always happened that Sampson Brass was reminded of 
some mission, calling Mr. Swiveller, if not to Peckham 
Rye again, at all events to some pretty distant place 
from which he could not be expected to return for two 
or three hours, or in all probability a much longer period, 
as that gentleman was not, to say the truth, renowned 
for using great expedition on such occasions, but rather 
for protracting and spinning out the time to the very 
utmost limit of possibility. Mr. Swiveller out of sight, 
Miss Sally immediately withdrew. Mr. Brass would 
then set the office-door wide open, hum his old tune with 
great gayety of heart, and smile seraphically as before. 
Kit coming down-stairs would be called in ; entertained 
with some moral and agreeable conversation ; perhaps 
entreated to mind the office for an instant while Mr. 
Brass stepped over the way ; and afterwards presented 
with one or two half crowns as the case might be. This 
occurred so often, that Kit, nothing doubting but that 


24 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


they came from the single gentleman who had already 
rewarded his mother with great liberality, could not 
enough admire his generosity; and bought so many 
cheap presents for her, and for little Jacob, and for the 
baby, and for Barbara to boot, that one or other of them 
was having some new trifle every day of their lives. 

While these acts and deeds were in progress in and 
out of the office of Sampson Brass, Richard Swiveller, 
being often left alone therein, began to find the time hang 
heavy on his hands. For the better preservation of his 
cheerfulness, therefore, and to prevent his faculties from 
rusting, he provided himself with a cribbage-board and 
pack of cards, and accustomed himself to play at crib- 
bage with a dummy, for twenty, thirty, or sometimes 
even fifty thousand pounds a side, besides many hazard- 
ous bets to a considerable amount. 

As these games were very silently conducted, notwith- 
standing the magnitude of the interests involved, Mr. 
Swiveller began to think that on those evenings when 
Mr. and Miss Brass were out (and they often went out 
now) he heard a kind of snorting or hard-breathing sound 
in the direction of the door, which it occurred to him, 
after some reflection, must proceed from the small ser- 
vant, who always had a cold from damp living. Looking 
intently that way one night, he plainly distinguished an 
eye gleaming and glistening at the key-hole ; and having 
now no doubt that his suspicions were correct, he stole 
softly to the door, and pounced upon her before she was 
aware of his approach. 

“ Oh ! I didn’t mean any harm indeed, upon my word 
I didn’t,” cried the small servant, struggling like a much 
larger one. “ It’s so very dull, down-stairs. Please 
don’t you tell upon me, please don’t.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 25 

4 ‘ Tell upon you ! ” said Dick. “ Do you mean to say 
you were looking through the key-hole for company ? ” 

“ Yes, upon my word I was,” replied the small ser- 
vant. 

“ How long have you been cooling your eye there ? * 
laid Dick. 

u Oh ever since you first began to play them cards, 
and long before.” 

Vague recollections of several fantastic exercises with 
which he had refreshed himself after the fatigues of bus- 
iness, and to all of which, no doubt, the small servant was 
a party, rather disconcerted Mr. Swiveller ; but he was 
not very sensitive on such points, and recovered himself 
speedily. 

“ Well, — come in ” — he said, after a little considera- 
tion. “ Here —— -sit down, and Til teach you how to 

play.” 

“ Oh ! I durstn’t do it,” rejoined the small servant ; 
“ Miss Sally ’ud kill me, if she know’d I come up here.” 

“ Have you got a fire down-stairs ? ” said Dick. 

“ A very little one,” replied the small servant. 

“ Miss Sally couldn’t kill me if she know’d I went 
down there, so I’ll come,” said Richard, putting the cards 
into his pocket. “ Why, how thin you are ! What do 
you mean by it ? ” 

“ It a’ n’t my fault.” 

“ Could you eat any bread and meat ? ” said Dick, tak- 
ing down his hat. “ Yes ? Ah ! I thought so. Did 
you ever taste beer?” 

“ I had a sip of it once,” said the small servant. 

“ Here’s a state of things ! ” cried Mr. Swiveller, rais- 
ing his eyes to the ceiling. “She never tasted it — it 
can’t be tasted in a sip ! Why, how old are you ? ” 


26 


TILE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ I don’t know.” 

Mr. Swiveller opened his eyes very wide, and appeared 
thoughtful for a moment ; then, bidding the child mind 
the door until he came back, vanished straightway. 

Presently, he returned, followed by the boy from the 
public-house, who bore in one hand a plate of bread and 
beef, and in the other a great pot, filled with some very 
fragrant compound, which sent forth a grateful steam, 
and was indeed choice purl, made after a particular 
recipe which Mr. Swiveller had imparted to the landlord, 
at a period when he was deep in his books and desirous 
to conciliate his friendship. Relieving the boy of his 
burden at the door, and charging his little companion to 
fasten it to prevent surprise, Mr. Swiveller followed her 
into the kitchen. 

“ There ! ” said Richard, putting the plate before her. 
“ First of all, clear that off, and then you’ll see what’s 
next.” 

The small servant needed no second bidding, and the 
plate was soon empty. 

“ Next,” said Dick, handing the purl, “ take a pull at 
that ; but moderate your transports, you know, for you’re 
not used to it. Well, is it good ? ” 

“ Oh ! isn’t it ?” said the small servant. 

Mr. Swiveller appeared gratified beyond all expression 
by this reply, and took a long draught himself : stead- 
fastly regarding his companion while he did so. These 
preliminaries disposed of, he applied himself to teaching 
her the game, which she soon learnt tolerably well, being 
both sharp-witted and cunning. 

“ Now,” said Mr. Swiveller, putting two sixpences into 
a saucer, and trimming the wretched candle, when the 
cards had been cut and dealt, “ those are the stakes. If 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


27 


you win, you get ’em all. If I win, I get ’em. To 
make it seem more real and pleasant, I shall call you the 
Marchioness, do you hear ? ” 

The small servant nodded. 

“ Then, Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “ fire away ! ” 
The Marchioness, holding her cards very tight in both 
hands, considered which to play, and Mr. Swiveller, as- 
suming the gay and fashionable air which such society 
required, took another pull at the tankard, and waited 
for her lead. 


28 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LVIII. 

Mr. Swiveller and his partner played several rub* 
bers with varying success, until the loss of three six- 
pences, the gradual sinking of the purl, and the striking 
of ten o’clock, combined to render that gentleman mind- 
ful of the flight of Time, and the expediency of with- 
drawing before Mr. Sampson and Miss Sally Brass 
returned. 

“ With which object in view, Marchioness,” said Mr. 
Swiveller gravely, “ I shall ask your ladyship’s permis- 
sion to put the board in my pocket, and to retire from 
the presence when I have finished this tankard ; merely 
observing, Marchioness, that since life like a river is 
flowing, I care not how fast it rolls on, ma’am, on, while 
such purl on the bank still is growing, and such eyes 
light the waves as they run. Marchioness, your health. 
You will excuse my wearing my hat, but the palace is 
damp, and the marble floor, is — if I may be allowed 
the expression — sloppy.” 

As a precaution against this latter inconvenience, Mr. 
Swiveller had been sitting for some time with his feet 
on the hob, in which attitude he now gave utterance to 
these apologetic observations, and slowly sipped the last 
choice drops of nectar. 

“ The Baron Sampsono Brasso and his fair sister are 
(you tell me) at the Play ? ” said Mr. Swiveller lean- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


29 


ing his le/t arm heavily upon the table, and raising his 
voice and his right leg after the manner of a theatrical 
bandit. 

The Marchioness nodded. 

Ha ! ” said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous frown. 
“’Tis well Marchioness! — but no matter. Some wine 
there. Ho ! ” He illustrated these melodramatic mor 
sels, by handing the tankard to himself with great hu- 
mility, receiving it haughtily, drinking from it thirstily, 
and smacking his lips fiercely. 

The small servant who was not so well acquainted 
with theatrical conventionalities as Mr. Swiveller (having 
indeed never seen a play, or heard one spoken of, except 
by chance through chinks of doors and in other forbid- 
den places) was rather alarmed by demonstrations so 
novel in their nature, and showed her concern so plainly 
in her looks, that Mr. Swiveller felt it necessary to dis- 
charge his brigand manner for one more suitable to 
private life, as he asked, — 

“ Do they often go .where glory waits ’em and leave 
you here?” 

“ Oh, yes ; I believe you they do,” returned the 
small servant. “ Miss Sally’s such a one-er for that, 
she is.” 

“ Such a what ? ” said Dick. 

“ Such a one-er,” returned the Marchioness. 

After a moment’s reflection, Mr. Swiveller deter- 
mined to forego his responsible duty pf setting her 
right, and to suffer her to talk on ; as it was evident 
that her tongue was loosened by the purl, and her op- 
portunities for conversation were not so frequent as tc 
render a momentary check of little consequence. 

“ They sometimes go to see Mr. Quilp,” said the small 


30 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


servant with a shrewd look ; “ they go to a many places, 
bless you ! ” 

“ Is Mr. Brass a wunner ? ” said Dick. 

“ Not half what Miss Sally is, he isn’t,” replied the 
small servant, shaking her head. “ Bless you, he’d 
never do anything without her.” 

“ Oh ! He wouldn’t, wouldn’t he ? ” said Dick. 

“ Miss Sally keeps him in such order,” said the small 
servant ; “ he always asks her advice, he does ; and he 
catches it sometimes. Bless you, you wouldn’t believe 
how much he catches it.” 

“ I suppose,” said Dick, “ that they consult together, 
a good deal, and talk about a great many people — about 
me for instance, sometimes, eh, Marchioness ? ” 

The Marchioness nodded amazingly. 

“ Complimentary ? ” said Mr. Swiveller. 

The Marchioness changed the motion of her head, 
which had not yet left off nodding, and suddenly began 
to shake it from side to side, with a vehemence which 
threatened to dislocate her neck. 

“ Humph ! ” Dick muttered. “ Would it be any 
breach of confidence, Marchioness, to relate what they 
say of the humble individual who has now the honor 
to ? ” — , 

“ Miss Sally says you’re a funny chap,” replied his 
friend. 

“ Well, Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “ that’s not 
uncomplimentary. Merriment, Marchioness, is not a bad 
or a degrading quality. Old King Cole was himself a 
merry old soul, if we may put any faith in the pages of 
history.” 

“ But she says,” pursued his companion, “ that you 
a’n’t to be trusted.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


31 


“ Why, really Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, 
thoughtfully ; “ several ladies and gentlemen — not 
exactly professional persons, but tradespeople, ma’am, 
tradespeople — have made the same remark. The ob 
scure citizen who keeps the hotel over the way, in- 
clined strongly to that opinion to-night when I ordered 
him to prepare the banquet. It’s a popular prejudice, 
Marchioness ; and yet I am sure I don’t know why, 
for I have been trusted in my time to a considerable 
amount, and I can safely say that I never forsook my 
trust until it deserted me — never. Mr. Brass is of 
the same opinion, I suppose ! ” 

His friend nodded again, with a cunning look which 
seemed to hint that Mr. Brass held stronger opinions 
on the subject than his sister ; and seeming to recol- 
lect herself, added imploringly, “ But don’t you ever 
tell upon me, or I shall be beat to death.” 

“ Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, rising, “ the word 
of a gentleman is as good as his bond — sometimes 
better, as in the present case, where his bond might 
prove but a doubtful sort of security. I am your friend, 
and I hope we shall play many more rubbers together 
in this same saloon. But, Marchioness,” added Rich- 
ard, stopping in his way to the door, and wheeling 
slowly round upon the small servant, who was follow- 
ing with the candle ; “ it occurs to me that you must 
be in the constant habit of airing your eye at key-holes, 
to know all this.” 

“ I only wanted,” replied the trembling Marchioness, 
u to know where the key of the safe was hid ; that was 
all ; and I wouldn’t have taken much, if I had found 
it — only enough to squench my hunger ” 

“ You didn’t find it, then ? ” said Dick. “ But of 


32 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


course you didn’t, or you’d be plumper. Good* night, 
Marchioness. Fare thee well, and if forever, then for- 
ever fare thee well — and put up the chain, Marchion- 
ess, in case of accidents.” 

With this parting injunction, Mr. Swiveller emerged 
from the house ; and feeling that he had by this time 
taken quite as much to drink as promised to be good 
for his constitution (purl being a rather strong and 
heady compound), wisely resolved to betake himself to 
his lodgings, and to bed at once. Homeward he went 
therefore ; and his apartments (for he still retained the 
plural fiction) being at no great distance from the office, 
he was soon seated in his own bedchamber, where, 
having pulled off one boot and forgotten the other, he 
fell into deep cogitation. 

“ This Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, folding his 
arms, “ is a very extraordinary person — surrounded by 
mysteries, ignorant of the taste of beer, unacquainted 
with her own name (which is less remarkable), and 
taking a limited view of society through the key -holes 
of doors — can these things be her destiny, or has 
some unknown person started an opposition to the decrees 
of fate ? It is a most inscrutable and unmitigated 
staggerer ! ” 

When his meditations had attained this satisfactory 
point, he became aware of his remaining boot, of which, 
with unimpaired solemnity, he proceeded to divest him- 
self ; shaking his head with exceeding gravity all the 
time, and sighing deeply. 

u These rubbers,” said Mr. Swiveller, putting on his 
night-cap in exactly the same style as he wore his hat, 
w remind me of the matrimonial fireside. Cheggs’s wife 
plays cribbage ; all-fours likewise. She rings the 


33 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

changes on ’em now. From sport to sport they hurry 
her, to banish her regrets, and when they win a smile 
from her, they think that she forgets — but she don’t. 
By this time, I should say,” added Richard, getting his 
left cheek into profile, and looking complacently at the 
reflection of a very little scrap of whisker in the look- 
ing-glass ; “ by this time, I should say, the iron has 
entered into her soul. It serves her right ! ” 

Melting from this stern and obdurate, into the tender 
and pathetic mood, Mr. Swiveller groaned a little, 
walked wildly up and down, and even made a show 
of tearing his hair, which however he thought better 
of, and wrenched the tassel from his night-cap instead. 
At last, undressing himself with a gloomy resolution, he 
got into bed. 

Some men in his blighted position would have taken 
to drinking ; but as Mr. Swiveller had taken to that 
before, he only took, on receiving the news that Sophy 
Wackles was lost to him forever, to playing the flute ; 
thinking after mature consideration that it was a good, 
sound, dismal occupation, not only in unison with his 
own sad thoughts, but calculated to awaken a fellow- 
feeling in the bosoms of his neighbors. In pursuance 
of this resolution, he now drew a little table to his bed- 
side, and arranging the light and a small oblong music- 
book to the best advantage, took his flute from its box, 
and began to play most mournfully. 

The air was, “ Away with melancholy.” — a compo- 
sition, which, when it is played very slowly on the flute, 
in bed, with the further disadvantage of being performed 
by a gentleman but imperfectly acquainted with the in- 
strument, who repeats one note a great many times, 
before he can find the next, has not a lively effect. Yet, 
3 


vol. in. 


34 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


for half the night, or more, Mr. Swiveller, lying some* 
times on his back with his eyes upon the ceiling, and 
sometimes half out of bed to correct himself by the book, 
played this unhappy tune over and over again ; never 
leaving off, save for a minute or two at a time to take 
breath and soliloquize about the Marchioness, and then 
beginning again with renewed vigor. It was not until 
he had quite exhausted his several subjects of medita- 
tion, and had breathed into the flute the whole sentiment 
of the purl down to its very dregs, and had nearly mad- 
dened the people of the house, and at both the next 
doors, and over the w T ay, — that he shut up the music- 
book, extinguished the candle, and finding himself great- 
ly lightened and relieved in his mind, turned round and 
fell asleep. 

He awoke in the morning, much refreshed ; and hav- 
ing taken half an hour’s exercise at the flute, and gra- 
ciously received a notice to quit from his landlady, who 
had been in waiting on the stairs for that purpose since 
the dawn of day, repaired to Bevis Marks ; where the 
beautiful Sally was already at her post, bearing in her 
looks a radiance, mild as that which beameth from the 
virgin moon. 

Mr. Swiveller acknowledged her presence by a nod, 
and exchanged his coat for the aquatic jacket ; which 
usually took some time fitting on, for in consequence of a 
tightness in the sleeves, it was only to be got into by a 
series of struggles. This difficulty overcome, he took 
his se&t at the desk. 

“ I say ” — quoth Miss Brass, abruptly breaking si- 
lence, “ you haven’t seen a silver pencil-case this morn- 
ing, have you ? ” 

“ I didn’t meet many in the street,” rejoined Mr Swiv- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


35 


eller. “ I saw one — a stout pencil-case of respectable 
appearance — but as he was in company with an elderly 
penknife and a young toothpick with -fthom he was in 
earnest conversation, I felt a delicacy in speaking to 
him.” 

“ No, but have you ? ” returned Miss Brass. “ Seri- 
ously, you know.” 

66 What a dull dog you must be to ask me such a ques- 
tion seriously,” said Mr. Swiveller. u Haven’t I this 
moment come ? ” 

“ Well, all I know is,” replied Miss Sally, “ that it’s 
not to be found, and that it disappeared one day this 
week, when I left it on the desk.” 

“ Halloa ! ” thought Richard, “ I hope the Marchioness 
hasn’t been at work here.” 

“ There was a knife too,” said Miss Sally, “ of th* 
same pattern. They were given to me by my father, 
years ago, and are both gone. You haven’t missed any* 
thing yourself, have you ?” 

Mr. Swiveller involuntarily clapped his hands to the 
jacket to be quite sure that it was a jacket and not a 
skirted coat ; and having satisfied himself of the safety 
of this, his only movable in Be vis Marks, made answei 
in the negative. 

“ It’s a very unpleasant thing, Dick,” said Miss Brass, 
pulling out the tin box and refreshing herself with a 
pinch of snuff ; “ but between you and me — between 
friends, you know, for if Sammy knew it, I should never 
hear the last of it — some of the office-money, too, that 
has been left about, has gone in the same way. In par- 
ticular, I have missed three half-crowns at three different 
times.” 

“ You don’t mean that ? ” cried Dick. “ Be careful 


36 THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

what you say, old boy, for .this is a serious matter. Are 
you quite sure ? Is there no mistake ? ” 

“ It :*3 so, ,there can’t be any mistake at all,” re* 
joined Miss Brass emphatically. 

“ Then by Jove,” thought Richard, laying down hi3 
pen, “ I am afraid the Marchioness is done for ! ” 

The more he discussed the subject in his thoughts, the 
more probable it appeared to Dick that the miserable 
little servant was the culprit. When he considered on 
what a spare allowance of food she lived, how neglected 
and untaught she was, and how her natural cunning had 
been sharpened by necessity and privation, he scarcely 
doubted it. And yet he pitied her so much, and felt so 
unwilling to have a matter of such gravity disturbing 
the oddity of their acquaintance, that he thought, and 
thought truly, that rather than receive fifty pounds down, 
he would have the Marchioness proved innocent. 

While he was plunged in very profound and serious 
meditation upon this theme, Miss Sally sat shaking her 
head with an air of great mystery and doubt ; when the 
voice of her brother Sampson, carolling a cheerful strain, 
was heard in the passage, and that gentleman himself, 
beaming with virtuous smiles, appeared. 

“ Mr. Richard, sir, good-morning ! Here we are 
again, sir, entering upon another day, with our bodies 
strengthened by slumber and breakfast, and our spirits 
fresh and flowing. Here we are, Mr. Richard, rising 
with the sun to run our little course — our course of 
duty, sir — and, like him, to get through our day’s work 
with credit to ourselves and advantage to our fellow- 
creatures. A charming reflection, sir, very charming ! ” 
While he addressed his clerk in these words, Mr. 
Brass was, somewhat ostentatiously, engaged in minutely 


37 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 

examining and holding up against the light a five-pound 
bank-note, which he had brought in, in his hanl. 

Mr. Richard not receiving his remarks with anything 
like enthusiasm, his employer turned his eyes to his face, 
and observed that it wore a troubled expression. 

“ You’re out of spirits, sir,” said Brass. “ Mr. Rich 
ard, sir, we should fall to work cheerfully, and not in a 
despondent state. It becomes us, Mr. Richard, sir 
to ” — — 

Here the chaste Sarah heaved a loud sigh. 

“ Dear me!” said Mr. Sampson, “ you too ! Is any 
thing the matter ? Mr. Richard, sir ” 

Dick, glancing at Miss Sally, saw that she was mak- 
ing signals to him, to acquaint her brother with the sub- 
ject of their recent conversation. As his own position was 
not a very pleasant one until the matter was set at rest 
one way or other, he did so ; and Miss Brass, plying her 
snuff-box at a most wasteful rate, corroborated his ac- 
count. 

The countenance of Sampson fell, and anxiety over- 
spread his features. Instead of passionately bewailing 
the loss of his money, as Miss Sally had expected, he 
walked on tiptoe to the door, opened it, looked outside, 
shut it softly, returned on tiptoe, and said in a whis- 
per, — 

“ This is a most extraordinary and painful circum- 
stance — Mr. Richard, sir, a most painful circumstance 
The fact is, that I myself have missed several small 
Bums from the desk, of late, and have refrained from 
mentioning it, hoping that accident would discover the 
offender ; but it has not done so — it has not done so. 
Sally — Mr. Richard, sir — this is a particularly dis- 
tressing affair ! ” 


38 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


As Sampson spoke, he laid the bank-note upon the 
desk among some papers, in an absent manner, and 
thrust his hands into his pockets. Richard Swiveller 
pointed to it, and admonished him to take it up. 

“ No, Mr. Richard, sir,” rejoined Brass with emotion, 
u I will not take it up. I will let it lie there, sir. To 
take it up, Mr. Richard, sir, would imply a doubt of you ; 
and in you, sir, I have unlimited confidence. We will 
let it lie there, sir, if you please, and we will not take it 
up by any means.” With that, Mr. Brass patted him 
twice or thrice on the shoulder, in a most friendly man- 
ner, and entreated him to believe that he had as much 
faith in his honesty as he had in his own. 

Although at another time Mr. Swiveller might have 
looked upon this as a doubtful compliment, he felt it, 
under the then existing circumstances, a great relief to 
be assured that he was not wrongfully suspected. When 
he had made a suitable reply, Mr. Brass wrung him by 
the hand, and fell into a brown study, as did Miss Sally 
likewise. Richard too remained in a thoughtful state ; 
fearing every moment to hear the Marchioness im- 
peached, and unable to resist the conviction that she 
must be guilty. 

When they had severally remained in this condition 
hr some minutes, Miss Sally all at once gave a loud rap 
upon the desk with her clenched fist, and cried, “ I’ve 
hit it ! ” — as indeed she had, and chipped a piece out of 
t too ; but that was not her meaning. 

“ Well,” cried Brass, anxiously. “ Go on, will you ? ” 
“ Why,” replied his sister with an air of triumph, 
hasn’t there been somebody always coming in and out 
of this office for the last three or four weeks ; hasn’t 
that somebody been left alone in it sometimes — thanks 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


39 


to you ; and do you mean to tell me that that somebody 
isn’t the thief! ” 

“ What somebody ? ” blustered Brass. 

“ Why, what do you call him — Kit.” 

u Mr. Garland’s young man ? ” 

“To be sure%” 

“ Never ! ” cried Brass. “ Never. I’ll not hear of it. 
Don’t tell me ” — said Sampson, shaking his head, and 
working with both his hands as if he were clearing away 
ten thousand cobwebs. “ I’ll never believe it of him. 
Never ! ” 

“ I say,” repeated Miss Brass, taking another pinch of 
snuff, “ that lie’s the thief.” 

“ I say,” returned Sampson violently, “ that he is not . 
What do you mean ? How dare you ? Are characters 
to be whispered away like this ? Do you know that 
he’s the honestest and faithfullest fellow that ever lived, 
and that he has an irreproachable good name ? Come 
in, come in ! ” 

These last words were not addressed to Miss Sally, 
though they partook of the tone in which the indignant 
remonstrances that preceded them had been uttered. 
They were addressed to some person who had knocked 
at the office-door ; and they had hardly passed the lips 
of Mr. Brass, when this very Kit himself looked in. 

“ Is the gentleman up-stairs sir, if you please ? ” 

“ Yes, Kit,” said Brass, still fired with an honest in 
dignation, and frowning with knotted brows upon his 
sister ; “Yes Kit, he is. I am glad to see you Kit, I 
am rejoiced to see you. Look in again, as you come 
down-stairs, Kit. That lad a robber ! ” cried Brass when 
he had withdrawn, “ with that frank and open counte- 
nance ! I’d trust him with untold gold. Mr. Richard, 


40 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


sir, have the goodness to step directly to Wrasp and 
Co.’s in Broad Street, and inquire if they have had 
instructions to appear in Carkem and Painter. That 
lad a robber,” sneered Sampson, flushed and heated with 
his wrath. “ Am I blind, deaf, silly ; do I know nothing 
f human nature when I see it before m$ ? Kit a rob- 
er ! Bah ! ” 

Flinging this final interjection at Miss Sally with im- 
measurable scorn and contempt, Sampson Brass thrust 
his head into his desk, as if to shut the base world from 
his view, and breathed defiance from under its half- 
dosed lid. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


41 


CHAPTER LIX. 

When Kit, having discharged his errand, came down- 
stairs from the single gentleman’s apartment after the 
lapse of a quarter of an hour or so, Mr. Sampson Brass 
was alone in the office. He was not singing as usual, 
nor was he seated at his desk. The open door showed 
him standing before the fire with his back towards it, 
and looking so very strange that Kit supposed he must 
have been suddenly taken ill. 

“ Is anything the matter sir ? ” said Kit. 

“ Matter ! ” cried Brass. “ No. Why anything the 
matter ? ” 

“Your are so very pale,” said Kit, “that I should 
hardly have known you.” 

“ Pooh, pooh ! mere fancy,” cried Brass, stooping to 
throw up the cinders. u Never better Kit, never better 
in all my life. Merry too. Ha, ha ! How’s our friend 
above-stairs, eh ? ” 

“ A great deal better,” said Kit. 

“ I’m glad to hear it,” rejoined Brass ; “ thankful, I may 
say. An excellent gentleman — worthy, liberal, gen- 
erous, gives very little trouble — an admirable lodger. 
Ha, ha ! Mr. Garland — he’s well I hope, Kit — and 
the pony — my friend, my particular friend you know. 
Ha, ha!” 

Kit gave a satisfactory account of all the little house- 


42 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


hold at Abel Cottage. Mr. Brass, who seemed re- 
markably inattentive and impatient, mounted on his 
stool, and beckoning him to come nearer, took him by 
the button-hole. 

“ I have been thinking, Kit,” said the lawyer, “ that I 
could throw some little emoluments into your mother’s 
way — You have a mother, I think ? If I recollect 
right, you told me ”, — 

“ Oh yes, sir, yes certainly.” 

“ A widow I think ? an industrious widow ? ” 

“ A harder- working woman or a better mother never 
lived, sir.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Brass. “ That’s affecting, truly affecting. 
A poor widow struggling to maintain her orphans in 
decency and comfort, is a delicious picture of human 
goodness. — Put down your hat, Kit.” 

“ Thank you, sir, I must be going directly.” 

“ Put it down while you stay, at any rate,” said Brass, 
taking it from him and making some confusion among 
the papers, in finding a place for it on the desk. “ I was 
thinking, Kit, that we have often houses to let for peo- 
ple we are concerned for, and matters of that sort. Now 
you know we’re obliged to put people into those houses 
to take care of ’em — very often undeserving people 
that we can’t depend upon. What’s to prevent our 
having a person that we can depend upon, and enjoy- 
ing the delight of doing a good action at the same time ? 
I say, what’s to prevent our employing this worthy 
woman, your mother ? What with one job and an- 
other, there’s lodging — and good lodging too — pretty 
well all the year round, rent free, and a weekly al- 
lowance besides, Kit, that would provide her with a 
great many comforts she don’t at present enjoy. Now 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


43 


what do you think of that ? Do you see any objection ? 
My only desire is to serve you, Kit ; therefore if you 
do, say so freely.” 

As Brass spoke, he moved the hat twice or thrice, and 
shuffled among the papers again, as if in search of some- 
thing. 

“ How can I see any objection to such a kind offer, 
sir ? ” replied Kit with his whole heart. “ I don’t know 
how to thank you, sir, I don’t indeed.” 

“ Why then,” said Brass, suddenly turning upon him 
and thrusting his face close to Kit’s with such a repul- 
sive smile that the latter, even in the very height of his 
gratitude, drew back, quite startled. “ Why then, if 8 
done” 

Kit looked at him in some confusion. 

“ Done, I say,” added Sampson, rubbing his hands 
and veiling himself again in his usual oily manner. 
“ Ha, ha ! and so you shall find Kit, so you shall find. 
But dear me,” said Brass, “ what a time Mr. Richard is 
gone ! A sad loiterer to be sure ! Will you mind the 
office one minute, while I run up-stairs ? Only one 
minute. I’ll not detain you an instant longer, on any 
account, Kit.” 

Talking as he went, Mr. Brass bustled out of the 
office, and in a very short time returned. Mr. Swivel- 
ler came back, almost at the same instant ; and as Kit 
was leaving the room hastily, to make up for lost time, 
Miss Brass herself encountered him in the doorway. 

“ Oh ? ” sneered Sally, looking after him as she en- 
tered. “ There goes your pet, Sammy, eh 3 ” 

“ Ah ! There he goes,” replied Brass. “ My pet, if 
you please. An honest fellow, Mr. Richard, sir — a 
worthy fellow indeed ! ” 


u 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Hem ! 9> coughed Miss Brass. 

“ I tell you, you aggravating vagabond,” said the 
angry Sampson, “ that I’d stake my life upon his hon- 
esty. Am I never to hear the last of this ? Am I 
always to be baited, and beset, by your mean suspicions ? 
Have you no regard for true merit, you malignant fel 
low ? If you come to that, Fd sooner suspect your 
honesty than his.” 

Miss Sally pulled out the tin snuff-box, and took a 
long, slow pinch : regarding her brother with a steady 
gaze all the time. 

“ She drives me wild, Mr. Richard, sir,” said Brass, 
“ she exasperates me beyond all bearing. I am heated 
and excited, sir, I know I am. These are not business 
manners, sir, nor business looks, but she carries me out 
of myself.” 

“ Why don’t you leave him alone ? ” said Dick. 

“ Because she can’t, sir,” retorted Brass ; “ because to 
chafe and vex me is a part of her nature, sir, and she 
will and must do it, or I don’t believe she’d have her 
health. But never mind,” said Brass, “ never mind. 
I’ve carried my point. I’ve shown my confidence in 
the lad. He has minded the office again. Ha, ha! 
Ugh, you viper ! ” 

The beautiful virgin took another pinch, and put the 
snuff-box in her pocket ; still looking at her brother with 
perfect composure. 

“ He has minded the office again,” said Brass trium 
phantly ; “ he has had my confidence, and he shall con 
tinue to have it ; he — why, where’s the ” — 

“ What have you lost ? ” inquired Mr. SwivelJer. 

“ Dear me ! ” said Brass, slapping all his pockets, one 
nfter another, and looking into his desk, and under it, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


45 


and upon it, and wildly tossing the papers about, “ the 
note, Mr. Richard, sir, the five-pound note — what can 
have become of it ? I laid it down here — God bless 
me ! ” 

“ What ! ” cried Miss Sally, starting up, clapping her 
hands, and scattering the papers on the floor. “ Gone ! 
Now who’s right? Now who’s got it ? Never mind five 
pounds — what’s five pounds ? He’s honest you know, 
quite honest. It would be mean to suspect him . Don't 
run after him. No, no, not for the world ! ” 

“ Is it really gone though ? ” said Dick, looking at 
Brass with a face as pale as his own. 

“ Upon my word, Mr. Richard sir,” replied the law- 
yer, feeling in all his pockets with looks of the greatest 
agitation, “ I fear this is a black business. It’s certainly 
gone, sir. What’s to be done ? ” 

“ Don’t run after him,” said Miss Sally, taking more 
snuff. “ Don’t run after him on any account. Give him 
time to get rid of it, you know. It would be cruel to 
find him out ! ” 

Mr. Swiveller and Sampson Brass looked from Miss 
Sally to each other, in a state of bewilderment, and then, 
as by one impulse, caught up their hats and rushed out 
into the street — darting along in the middle of the road, 
and dashing aside all obstructions, as though they were 
running for their lives. 

It happened that Kit had been running too, though not 
so fast, and having the start of them by some few min- 
utes, was a good distance ahead. As they were pretty 
certain of the road he must have taken, however, and 
kept off at a great pace, they came up with him, at the 
rery moment when he had taken breath, and was break 
ing into a run again. 


46 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Stop ! ” cried Sampson, laying his hand on one shouh 
der, while Mr. Swiveller pounced upon the other. “ Not 
bo fast sir. You’re in a hurry ? ” 

“ Yes, I am,” said Kit, looking from one to the other 
in great surprise. 

“ I — I — can hardly believe it,” panted Sampson, 
“ but something of value is missing from the office. I 
hope you don’t know what.” 

“ Know what ! good Heaven, Mr. Brass ! ” cried Kit, 
trembling from head to foot ; “ you don’t suppose ” — 

“ No, no,” rejoined Brass quickly, “ I don’t suppose 
anything. Don’t say I said you did. You’ll come back 
quietly, I hope ? ” 

“ Of course I will,” returned Kit. “ Why not ? ” 

“ To be sure ! ” said Brass. “ Why not ? I hopo 
there may turn out to be no why not. If you knew the 
trouble I’ve been in, this morning, through taking your 
part, Christopher, you’d be sorry for it.” 

“ And I am sure you’ll be sorry for having suspected 
me sir,” replied Kit. u Come. Let us make haste 
back.” 

“ Certainly ! ” cried Brass, “ the quicker, the better. 
Mr. Richard — have the goodness sir to take that arm. 
I’ll take this one. It’s not easy walking three abreast, 
but under these circumstances it must be done sir ; there’s 
no help for it.” 

Kit did turn from white to red, and from red to 
white again, when they secured him thus, and for a mo- 
ment seemed disposed to resist. But, quickly recollect- 
ing himself, and remembering that if he made any strug- 
gle, he would perhaps be dragged by the collars through 
the public streets, he only repeated, with great earnest- 
ness and with the tears standing in his eyes, that they 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


47 


would be sorry for this — and suffered them to lead him 
off. While they were on the way back, Mr. Swiveller, 
upon whom his present functions sat very irksomely, took 
an opportunity of whispering in his ear that if he would 
confess his guilt, even by so much as a nod, and promise 
not to do so any more, he would connive at his kicking 
Sampson Brass on the shins and escaping up a court ; but 
Kit indignantly rejecting this proposal, Mr. Richard had 
nothing for it, but to hold him tight until they reached 
Bevis Marks, and ushered him into the presence of the 
charming Sarah, who immediately took the precaution 
of locking the door. 

“ Now, you know,” said Brass, “ if this is a case of 
innocence, it is a case of that description, Christopher, 
where the fullest disclosure is the best satisfaction for 
everybody. Therefore if you’ll consent to an exami- 
nation,” he demonstrated what kind of an exami- 
nation he meant by turning back the cuffs of his coat, 
u it will be a comfortable and pleasant thing for all par- 
ties.” 

“ Search me,” said Kit, proudly holding up his arms. 
“ But mind sir — I know you’ll be sorry for this, to the 
last day of your life.” 

“ It is certainly a very painful occurrence,” said Brass 
with a sigh, as he dived into one of Kit’s pockets, and 
fished up a miscellaneous collection of small articles ; 
u very painful. Nothing here, Mr. Richard, sir, all per- 
fectly satisfactory. Nor here, sir. Nor in the waistcoat, 
Mr. Richard, nor in the coat-tails. So far, I am rejoiced, 
t am sure.” 

Richard Swiveller, holding Kit’s hat in his hand, was 
watching the proceedings with great interest, and bore 
upon his face the slightest possible indication of a smile, 


48 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


as Brass, shutting one of his eyes, looked with the other 
up the inside of one of the poor fellow’s sleeves as if it 
were a telescope — when Sampson turning hastily to 
him, bade him search the hat. 

“ Here’s a handkerchief,” said Dick. 

“No harm in that sir,” rejoined Brass, applying his 
eye to the other sleeve, and speaking in the voice of one 
who was contemplating an immense extent of prospect. 
“ No harm in a handkerchief sir, whatever. The faculty 
don’t consider it a healthy custom, I believe, Mr. Richard, 
to carry one’s handkerchief in one’s hat — I have heard 
that it keeps the head too warm — but in every other 
point of view, it’s being there, is extremely satisfactory 
— ex-tremely so.” 

An exclamation, at once from Richard Swiveller, Miss 
Sally, and Kit himself, cut the lawyer short. He turned 
his head, and saw Dick standing with the bank-note in 
his hand. 

“ In the hat ? ” cried Brass, in a sort of shriek. 

“ Under the handkerchief, and tucked beneath the lin- 
ing,” said Dick, aghast at the discovery. 

Mr. Brass looked at him, at his sister, at the walls, at 
the ceiling, at the floor — everywhere but at Kit, who 
stood quite stupefied and motionless. 

“ And this,” cried Sampson, clasping his hands, “ is 
the world that turns upon its own axis, and has lunar 
influences, and revolutions round heavenly bodies, and 
various games of that sort ! This is human natur, is it ! 
Oh natur, natur ! This is the miscreant that I was going 
to benefit with all my little arts, and that, even now, I 
feel so much for, as to wish to let him go ! But,” added 
Mr. Brass with greater fortitude, “ I am myself a lawyer 
and bound to set an example in carrying the laws of my 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY fcmol. U 

happy country into effect. Sally my dear, forgive me, 
and catch hold of him on the other side. Mr. Richard 
sir, have the goodness to run and fetch a constable. The 
weakness is past and over sir, and moral strength returns 
A constable, sir, if you please 1 ” 


56 


THF OUD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LX. 

Kit stood as one entranced, with liis eyes opened wide 
wid fixed upon the ground, regardless alike of the trem- 
ulous hold which Mr. Brass maintained on one side of 
his cravat, and of the firmer grasp of Miss Sally upon the 
other; although this latter detention was in itself no 
small inconvenience, as that fascinating woman, besides 
screwing her knuckles inconveniently into his throat from 
time to time, had fastened upon him in the first instance 
with so tight a grip that even in the disorder and dis- 
traction of his thoughts he could not divest himself of 
an uneasy sense of choking. Between the brother and 
sister he remained in this posture, quite unresisting and 
passive, until Mr. Swiveller returned, with a police con- 
stable at his heels. 

This functionary, being, of course, well used to such 
scenes ; looking upon all kinds of robbery, from petty lar- 
ceny up to house-breaking or ventures on the highway, as 
matters in the regular course of business ; and regarding 
the perpetrators in the light of so many customers com- 
ing to be served at the wholesale and retail shop of crim- 
inal law where he stood behind the counter; received 
Mr. Brass’s statement of facts with about as much in- 
terest and surprise, as an undertaker might evince if 
required to listen to a circumstantial account of the last 
illness of a person whom he was called in to wait upon 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


51 


professionally ; and took Kit into custody with a decent 
indifference. 

a We had better/’ said this subordinate minister of jus- 
tice, “ get to the office while there’s a magistrate sitting. 
I shall want you to come along with us, Mr. Brass, and 
the” — he looked at Miss Sally as if in some doubt 
whether she might not be a griffin or other fabulous 
monster. 

“ The lady, eh ? ” said Sampson. 

“ Ah ! ” replied the constable. “ Yes — the lady. 
Likewise the young man that found the property.” 

“ Mr. Richard, sir,” said Brass in a mournful voice. 
“ A sad necessity. But the altar of our country, 
sir ” — 

“ You’ll have a hackney coach, I suppose ? ” inter- 
rupted the constable, holding Kit (whom his offier cap- 
tors had released) carelessly by the arm, a little above 
the elbow. “ Be so good as send for one, will you ? ” 

“ But, hear me speak a word,” cried Kit, raising his 
eyes and looking imploringly about him. “ Hear me 
speak a word. I am no more guilty than any one of 
you. Upon my soul I am not. I, a thief! Oh, Mr. 
Brass, you know me better. I am sure you know me 
better. This is not right of you, indeed.” 

“ 1 give you my word, constable ” — said Brass. But 
here the constable interposed with the constitutional 
principle “ words be bio wed ” ; observing that words 
were but spoon-meat for babes and sucklings, and that 
oaths were the food for strong men. 

“ Quite true, constable,” assented Brass in the same 
mournful tone. “ Strictly correct. I give you my oath, 
constable, that down to a few minutes ago, when this 
fatal discovery was made, I had such confidence in that 


52 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


lad, that I’d have trusted him with — a hackney-coach, 
Mr. Richard, sir ; you’re very slow, sir.” 

“ Who is there that knows me,” cried Kit, “ that would 
not trust me — that does not ? ask anybody whether they 
have ever doubted me ; whether I have ever wronged 
hem of a farthing. Was I ever once dishonest when I 
was poor and hungry, and is it likely I would begin 
now ! Oh consider what you do. How can I meet the 
kindest friends that ever human creature had, with this 
dreadful charge upon me ! ” 

Mr. Brass rejoined that it would have been well for 
the prisoner if he had thought of that before, and was 
about to make some other gloomy observations when the 
voice of the single gentleman was heard, demanding 
from above-stairs what was the matter, and what was 
the cause of all that noise and hurry. Kit made an in- 
voluntary start towards the door in his anxiety to answer 
for himself, but being speedily detained by the constable, 
had the agony of seeing Sampson Brass run out alone to 
tell the story in his own way. 

“ And he can hardly believe it, either,” said Sampson, 
when he returned, “nor nobody will. I wish I could 
doubt the evidence of my senses, but their depositions 
are unimpeachable. It’s of no use cross-examining my 
eyes,” cried Sampson, winking and rubbing them, “ they 
stick to their first account, and will. Now, Sarah, I 
hear the coach in the Marks ; get on your bonnet, and 
jre’U be off. A sad errand ? a moral funeral, quite ! ” 

“ Mr. Brass,” said Kit, “ do me one favor. Take mo 
to Mr. Witberden’s first.” 

Sampson shook his head irresolutely. 

“Do,” said Kit. “ My master’s there. For Heaven’s 
sake, take me there, first.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


53 


Well, I don’t know,” stammered Brass, who perhaps 
had his reasons for wishing to show as fair as possible in 
the eyes of the notary. “ How do we stand in point of 
time, constable, eh ? ” 

The constable, who had been chewing a straw all thi 
while with great philosophy, replied that if they wen 
away at once they would have time enough, but that if 
they stood shilly-shallying there, any longer, they must 
go straight to the Mansion House ; and finally expressed 
his opinion that that was where it was, and that was all 
about it. 

Mr. Richard Swiveller having arrived inside the 
coach, and still remaining immovable in the most com- 
modious corner with his face to the horses, Mr. Brass 
instructed the officer to remove his prisoner, and declared 
himself quite ready. Therefore, the constable, still hold- 
ing Kit in the same manner, and pushing him on a little 
before him, so as to keep him at about three quarters of 
an arm’s length in advance (which is the professional 
mode), thrust him into the vehicle and followed himself. 
Miss Sally entered next ; and there being now four in- 
side, Sampson Brass got upon the box, and made the 
coachman drive on. 

Still completely stunned by the sudden and terrible 
change which had taken place in his affairs, Kit sat gaz- 
ing out of the coach window, almost hoping to see some 
monstrous phenomenon in the streets which might giv 
him reason to believe he was in a dream. Alas ! Every 
thing was too real and familiar: the same succession of 
turnings, the same houses, the same streams of people 
running side by side in different directions upon the 
pavement, the same bustle of carts and carriages in the 
road, the same well-remembered objects in the shop win- 


54 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


dows : a regularity in the very noise and hurry which no 
dream ever mirrored. Dream-like as the story was, it 
was true. He stood charged with robbery ; the note 
had been found upon him, though he was innocent in 
thought and deed ; and they were carrying him back a 
prisoner. 

Absorbed in these painful ruminations, thinking with 
a drooping heart of his mother and little Jacob, feeling 
as though even the consciousness of innocence would be 
insufficient to support him in the presence of his friends 
if they believed him guilty, and sinking in hope and 
courage more and more as they drew nearer to the no- 
tary^, poor Kit was looking earnestly out of the window, 
observant of nothing, — when all at once, as though it 
had been conjured up by magic, he became aware of the 
face of Quilp. 

And what a leer there was upon the face ! It was 
from the open window of a tavern that it looked out ; 
and the dwarf had so spread himself over it, with his 
elbows on the window-sill and his head resting on both 
his hands, that what between this attitude and his being 
swoln with suppressed laughter he looked puffed and 
bloated into twice his usual breadth. Mr. Brass, on 
recognizing him, immediately stopped the coach. As it 
came to a halt directly opposite to where he stood, the 
dwarf pulled off his hat, and saluted the party with a 
hideous and grotesque politeness. 

“ Aha ! ” he cried. “ Where now, Brass ? where now ? 
Sally with you too ? Sweet Sally ! And Dick ? Pleas- 
ant Dick! And Kit? Honest Kit!” 

“ He’s extremely cheerful ! ” said Brass to the coach- 
man. “ Very much so ! Ah sir — a sad business ! Nevei 
believe in honesty any more, sir.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


55 


“ Why not ? ” returned the dwarf. “ Why not, you 
rogue of a lawyer, why not ? ” 

“ Bank-note lost in our office, sir,” said Brass, shaking 
his head. “ Found in his hat, sir — he previously left 
alone there — no mistake at all, sir — chain of evidence 
comf A .ete — not a link wanting.” 

** What ! ” cried the dwarf, leaning half his body out 
of window, “Kit a thief! Kit a thief! Ha, ha, ha! 
Why, he’s an uglier-looking thief than can be seen any- 
where for a penny. Eh, Kit — eh ? Ha, ha, ha ! Have 
you taken Kit into custody before he had time and op- 
portunity to beat me ! Eh, Kit, eh ? ” And with that, 
he burst into a yell of laughter, manifestly to the great 
terror of the coachman, and pointed to a dyer’s pole hard 
by, where a dangling suit of clothes bore some resem- 
blance to a man upon a gibbet. 

u Is it coming to that, Kit ! ” cried the dwarf, rubbing 
his hands violently. “ Ha, ha, ha, ha ! What a disap- 
pointment for little Jacob, and for his darling mother! 
Let him have the Bethel minister to comfort and con- 
sole him, Brass. Eh, Kit, eh ? Drive on coachey, drive 
on. Bye bye, Kit ; all good go with you ; keep up your 
spirits ; my love to the Garlands — the dear old lady 
and gentleman. Say I inquired after ’em, will you ? 
Blessings on ’em, and on you, and on everybody, Kit. 
Blessings on all the world ! ” 

With such good wishes and farewells, poured out in a 
rapid torrent until they were out of hearing, Quilp suf- 
fered them to depart ; and when he could see the coach 
no longer, drew in his head, and rolled upon the ground 
in an ecstasy of enjoyment. 

When they reached the notary’s, which they were not 
long in doing, for they had encountered the dwarf in a 


56 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


by-street at a very little distance from the house, Mr 
Brass dismounted ; and opening the coach-door with a 
melancholy visage, requested his sister to accompany 
him into the office, with the view of preparing the good 
people within for the mournful intelligence that awaited 
them. Miss Sally complying, he desired Mr. Swiveller 
to accompany them. So, into the office they went ; Mr 
Sampson and his sister arm-in-arm ; and Mr. Swiveller 
following, alone. 

The notary was standing before the fire in the outer 
office, talking to Mr. Abel and the elder Mr. Garland, 
while Mr. Chuckster sat writing at the desk, picking up 
such crumbs of their conversation as happened to fall in 
his way. This posture of affairs Mr. Brass observed 
through the glass-door as he was turning the handle, and 
seeing that the notary recognized him, he began to shake 
his head and sigh deeply while that partition yet divided 
them. 

“ Sir,” said Sampson, taking off his hat, and kissing 
the two forefingers of his right hand beaver glove, “ my 
name is Brass — Brass of Bevis Marks, sir. I have 
had the honor and pleasure, sir, of being concerned 
against you in some little testamentary matters. How 
do you do, sir ? ” 

“ My clerk will attend to any business you may have 
come upon, Mr. Brass,” said the notary, turning away. 

“ Thank you, sir,” said Brass, “ thank you, I am sure 
Allow me, sir, to introduce my sister — quite one of us 
sir, although of the weaker sex — of great use in my 
business, sir, I assure you. Mr. Richard, sir, have the 
goodness to come forward if you please — No really,” 
said Brass, stepping between the notary and his private 
office (towards which he had begun to retreat), and speak- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


57 


ing in the tone of an injured man, “really sir, I must, 
under favor, request a word or two with you, indeed.” 

u Mr. Brass,” said the other, in a decided tone, “ I am 
engaged. You see that I am occupied with these gentle- 
men. If you will communicate your business to Mr. 
Chuckster yonder, you will receive every attention.” 

“ Gentlemen,” said Brass, laying his right hand on his 
waistcoat, and looking towards the father and son with a 
smooth smile — “ Gentlemen, I appeal to you — really, 
gentlemen — consider, I beg of you. I am of the law. 
I am styled ‘ gentleman ’ by act of Parliament. I 
maintain the title by the annual payment of twelve 
pounds sterling for a certificate. I am not one of your 
players of music, stage-actors, writers of books, or paint- 
ers of pictures, who assume a station that the laws of 
their country don’t recognize. I am none of your stroll- 
ers or vagabonds. If any man brings his action against 
me, he must describe me as a gentleman, or his action is 
null and void. I appeal to you — is this quite respect- 
ful ? Really, gentlemen ” — 

“ Well, will you have the goodness to state your busi- 
ness, then, Mr. Brass ? ” said the notary. 

“ Sir,” rejoined Brass, “ I will. Ah, Mr. Witherden ! 
you little know the — but I will not be tempted to travel 
from the point, sir. I believe the name of one of these 
gentlemen is Garland.” 

“ Of both,” said the notary. 

“ In-deed ! ” rejoined Brass, cringing excessively. 
“ But I might have known that, from the uncommon 
likeness. Extremely happy, I am sure, to have the 
^nor of an introduction to two such gentlemen, although 
the occasion is a most painful one. One of you gentle- 
men has a servant called Kit ? ” 


58 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Both,” replied the notary. 

“ Two Kits ? ” said Brass, smiling. u Dear me ! ” 

“ One Kit, sir,” returned Mr. Witherden, angrily, 
“who is employed by both gentlemen. What of him?” 

“ This of him, sir,” rejoined Brass, dropping his voice 
impressively. “That young man, sir, that I have felt 
unbounded and unlimited confidence in, and always be- 
haved to as if he was my equal — that young man has 
this morning committed a robbery in my office, and been 
taken almost in the fact.” 

“ This must be some falsehood ! ” cried the notary. 

“ It is not possible,” said Mr. Abel. 

“I’ll not believe one word of it,” exclaimed the old 
gentleman. 

Mr. Brass looked mildly round upon them, and re- 
joined. 

“ Mr. Witherden, sir, your words are actionable, and 
if I was a man of low and mean standing, who couldn't 
afford to be slandered, I should proceed for damages. 
Hows’ever sir, being what I am, I merely scorn such ex- 
pressions. The honest warmth of the other gentleman 
I respect, and I’m truly sorry to be the messenger of 
such unpleasant news. I shouldn’t have put myself in 
this painful position, I assure you, but that the lad him- 
self desired to be brought here in the first instance, and 
I yielded to his prayers. Mr. Chuckster sir, will you 
have the goodness to tap at the window for the constable 
that’s waiting in the coach ? ” 

The three gentlemen looked at each other with blank 
faces when these words were uttered, and Mr. Chuckster, 
doing as he was desired, and leaping off his stool with 
something of the excitement of an inspired prophet 
whose foretellings had in the fulness of time been real- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


59 


ized, held the door open for the entrance of the wretched 
captive. 

Such a scene as there was, when Kit came in, and 
bursting into the rude eloquence with w 7 hich Truth at 
length inspired him, called Heaven to witness that he 
was innocent, and that how the property came to be 
found upon him he knew not ! Such a confusion of 
tongues, before the circumstances were related, and the 
proofs disclosed ! Such a dead silence when all was 
told, and his three friends exchanged looks of doubt and 
amazement ! 

“ Is it not possible,” said Mr. Witherden, after a long 
pause, “ that this note may have found its way into the 
hat by some accident, — such as the removal of papers 
on the desk, for instance ? ” 

But, this was clearly shown to be quite impossible. 
Mr. Swiveller, though an unwilling witness, could not 
help proving to demonstration, from the position in which 
it was found, that it must have been designedly secreted. 

“ It’s very distressing,” said Brass, “ immensely dis- 
tressing, I am sure. When he comes to be tried, I shall 
be very happy to recommend him to mercy on account 
of his previous good character. I did lose money before 
certainly, but it doesn’t quite follow that he took it. The 
presumption’s against him — strongly against him — but 
we’re Christians, I hope ? ” 

“ I suppose,” said the constable, looking round, “ that 
no gentleman here, can give evidence as to whether he’s 
been flush of money of late. Do you happen to know 
sir ? ” 

“He has had money from time to time, certainly,” 
returned Mr. Garland, to whom the man had put the 
question. “ But that, as he always toi 1 me, was given 
him by Mr. Brass himself.” 


60 


THE OLD CCJRIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Yes .to be sure,” said Kit eagerly. “ You can bear 
me out in that sir ? ” 

“ Eh ? ” cried Brass, looking from face to face with an 
expression of stupid amazement. 

“ The money you know, the half-crowns that you gave 
me — from the lodger,” said Kit. 

“Oh dear me!” cried Brass, shaking his head and 
frowning heavily. “ This is a bad case, I find ! a very 
bad case indeed.” 

“ What ! Did you give him no money on account of 
anybody, sir?” asked Mr. Garland, with great anxiety. 

“ I give him money, sir !” returned Sampson. “Oh, 
come you know, this is too barefaced. Constable, my 
good fellow, we had better be going.” 

“ What ! ” shrieked Kit. “ Does he deny that he did ? 
ask him, somebody, pray. Ask him to tell you whether 
he did or not ! ” 

“ Did you, sir ? ” asked the notary. 

“ I tell you what, gentlemen,” replied Brass, in a very 
grave manner, “ he’ll not serve his case this way, and 
really, if you feel any interest in him, you had better 
advise him to go upon some other tack. Did I, sir? 
Of course I never did.” 

“ Gentlemen,” cried Kit, on whom a light broke sud- 
denly, “ Master, Mr. Abel, Mr. Witherden, every one of 
you — he did it ! What I have done to offend him, I 
don’t know, but this is a plot to ruin me. Mind, gentle- 
men, it’s a plot, and whatever comes of it, I will say 
with my dying breath that he put that note in my hat 
himself ! Look at him, gentlemen ! See how he changes 
color. Which of us looks the guilty person • — he or I ? ” 

“ You hear him, gentlemen ? ” said Brass, smiling, 
u you hear him. Now, does this case strike you as as* 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


61 


Burning rather a black complexion, or does it not ? Is it 
at all a treacherous case, do you think, or is it one of 
mere ordinary guilt? Perhaps, gentlemen, if he had 
not said this in your presence and I had reported it, 
you’d have held this to be impossible likewise, eh ? ” 

With such pacific and bantering remarks did Mr 
Brass refute the foul aspersion on his character ; but 
the virtuous Sarah, moved by stronger feelings, and 
having at heart, perhaps, a more jealous regard for the 
honor of her family, flew from her brother’s side, without 
any previous intimation of her design, and darted at the 
prisoner with the utmost fury. It would undoubtedly 
have gone hard with Kit’s face, but that the wary con- 
stable, foreseeing her design, drew him aside at the criti- 
cal moment, and thus placed Mr. Chuckster in circum- 
stances of some jeopardy ; for that gentleman happening 
to be next the object of Miss Brass’s wrath ; and rage 
being, like love and fortune, blind ; was pounced upon 
by the fair enslaver, and had a false collar plucked up by 
the roots, and his hair very much dishevelled, before the 
exertions of the company could make her sensible of her 
mistake. 

The constable, taking warning by this desperate at- 
tack, and thinking perhaps that it would be more satis- 
factory to the ends of justice if the prisoner were taken 
before a magistrate, whole, rather than in small pieces, 
led him back to the hackney-coach without more ado, 
and moreover insisted on Miss Brass becoming an out- 
side passenger ; to which proposal the charming crea- 
ture, after a little angry discussion, yielded her consent , 
and so took her brother Sampson’s place upon the box : 
Mr. Brass with some reluctance agreeing to occupy her 
*eat inside. These arrangements perfected, they drove 


62 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


to the justice-room with all speed, followed by the notary 
and his two friends in another coach. Mr. Chuckster 
alone was left behind — greatly to his indignation ; for 
he held the evidence he could have given, relative to 
Kit’s returning to work out the shilling, to be so very 
naterial as bearing upon his hypocritical and designing 
character, that he considered its suppression little better 
than a compromise of felony. 

Ac the justice-room they found the single gentleman 
who had gone straight there, and was expecting them 
with desperate impatience. But, not fifty single gentle- 
men rolled into one could have helped poor Kit, who, in 
half an hour afterwards was committed for trial, and was 
assured by a friendly officer on his way to prison that 
there was no occasion to be cast down, for the sessions 
would soon be on, and he would, in all likelihood, get his 
little affair disposed of, and be comfortably transported, 
in less than a fortnight. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


03 


CHAPTER LXI. 

Let moralists and philosophers say what they may, it 
is very questionable whether a guilty man would have 
felt half as much misery that night, as Kit did, being in- 
nocent. The world, being in the constant commission of 
vast quantities of injustice, is a little too apt to comfort 
itself with the idea that if the victim of its falsehood 
and malice have a clear conscience, he cannot fail to 
be sustained under his trials, and somehow or other to 
come right at last ; “ in which case ” say they who 
have hunted him down, “ — though we certainly don’t 
expect it — nobody will be better pleased than we.” 
Whereas, the world would do well to reflect, that in- 
justice is in itself, to every generous and properly con- 
stituted mind, an injury, of all others the most insuffer- 
able, the most torturing, and the most hard to bear ; and 
that many clear consciences have gone to their account 
elsewhere, and many sound hearts have broken, because 
of this very reason ; the knowledge of their own deserts 
only aggravating their sufferings, and rendering them 
the less endurable. 

The world, however, was not in fault in Kit’s case. 
But, Kit was innocent ; and knowing this, and feeling 
that his best friends deemed him guilty — that Mr. and 
Mrs. Garland would look upon him as a monster of in- 
gratitude — that Barbara would associate him with all 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


C> 4 


»uat was bad and criminal — that the pony would con- 
sider himself forsaken — and that even his own mother 
might perhaps yield to the strong appearances against 
him, and believe him to be the wretch he seemed — 
knowing and feeling all this, he experienced, at first, an 
agony of mind which no words can describe, and walked 
up and down the little cell in which he was locked up 
for the night, almost beside himself with grief. 

Even when the violence of these emotions had in 
some degree subsided, and he was beginning to grow 
more calm, there came into his mind a new thought, the 
anguish of which was scarcely less. The child — the 
bright star of the simple fellow’s life — she, who always 
came back upon him like a beautiful dream, — who had 
made the poorest part of his existence the happiest and 
best, — who had ever been so gentle, and considerate, 
and good — if she were ever to hear of this, what would 
she think ! As this idea occurred to him, the walls of 
the prison seemed to melt away, and the old place to 
reveal itself in their stead, as it was wont to be on 
winter nights — the fireside, the little supper-table, the 
old man’s hat, and coat, and stick — the half-opened 
door, leading to her little room — they were all there. 
And Nell herself was there, and he — both laughing 
heartily as they had often done — and when he had got 
as far as this, Kit could go no farther, but flung himself 
upon his poor bedstead and w^ept. 

It was a long night, which seemed as though it would 
have no end ; but he slept too, and dreamed — always 
of being at liberty, and roving about, now with one per- 
son and now with another, but ever with a vague dread 
of being recalled to prison; not that prison, but one 
which was in itself a dim idea — not of a place, but of 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


65 


a care and sorrow : of something oppressive and always 
present, and yet impossible to define.. At last, the morn- 
ing dawned, and there was the jail itself — cold, black, 
and dreary, and very real indeed. 

He was left to himself, however, and there was com- 
fort in that. He had liberty to walk in a small paved 
yard at a certain hour, and learnt from the turnkey, 
who came to unlock his cell and show him where to 
wash, that there was a regular time for visiting, every 
day, and that if any of his friends came to see him, he 
would be fetched down to the grate. When he had given 
him this information, and a tin porringer containing his 
breakfast, the man locked him up again ; and went clat- 
tering along the stone passage, opening and shutting a 
great many other doors, and raising numberless loud 
echoes which resounded through the building for a long 
time, as if they were in prison too, and unable to get out. 

This turnkey had given him to understand that he 
was lodged, like some few others in the jail, apart from 
the mass of prisoners ; because he was not supposed to 
be utterly depraved and irreclaimable, and had never 
occupied apartments in that mansion before. Kit was 
thankful for this indulgence, and sat reading the Church 
catechism very attentively (though he had known it by 
heart from a little child), until he heard the key in the 
lock, and the man entered again. 

“ Now then,” he said, “ come on ! ” 

“ Where to, sir? ” asked Kit. 

The man contented himself by briefly replying “ Wis- 
»tors ; ” and taking him by the arm in exactly the same 
manner as the constable had done the day before, led 
him, through several winding ways and strong gates, 
into a passage, where he placed him at a grating and 
5 


VOL. HI. 


66 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


turned upon his heel. Beyond this grating, at the dis- 
tance of about four or five feet, was another, exactly 
like it. In the space between, sat a turnkey reading a 
newspaper; and outside the further railing, Kit saw, 
with a palpitating heart, his mother with the baby in 
her arms ; Barbara’s mother with her never-failing um- 
brella ; and poor little Jacob, staring in with all his 
might, as though he were looking for the bird, or the 
wild beast, and thought the men were mere accidents 
with whom the bars could have no possible concern. 

But, when little Jacob saw his brother, and, thrusting 
his arms between the rails to hug him, found that he 
came no nearer, but still stood afar off with his head 
resting on the arm by which he held to one of the 
bars, he began to cry most piteously ; whereupon Kit’s 
mother and Barbara’s mother, who had restrained 
themselves as much as possible, burst out sobbing and 
weeping afresh. Poor Kit could not help joining them, 
and not one of them could speak a word. 

During this melancholy pause, the turnkey read his 
newspaper with a waggish look (he had evidently got 
among the facetious paragraphs) until, happening to take 
his eyes off it for an instant, as if to get by dint of con- 
templation at the very marrow of some joke of a deeper 
sort than the rest, it appeared to occur to him, for the 
first time, that somebody was crying. 

i( Now, ladies, ladies,” he said, looking round with sur 
prise, “ I’d advise you not to waste time like this. It’ 
allowanced here, you know. You mustn’t let that child 
make that noise either. It’s against all rules.” 

“ I’m bis poor mother, sir,” sobbed Mrs. Nubbles, 
eurtseying humbly, “ and this is his brother, sir. Oh 
dear me, dear me ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


67 


“Well!” replied the turnkey, folding his paper on 
his knee, so as to get with greater convenience at the top 
of the n§xt column. “ It can’t be helped, you know. 
He a’n’t the only one in the same fix. You mustn’t 
make a noise about it!” 

With that, he went on reading. The man was not 
naturally cruel or hard-hearted. He had come to look 
upon felony as a kind of disorder, like the scarlet fever 
or erysipelas : some people had it — some hadn’t — just 
as it might be. 

“ Oh ! my darling Kit,” said his mother, whom Bar- 
bara’s mother had charitably relieved of the baby, “ that 
I should see my poor boy here ! ” 

“ You don’t believe I did what they accuse me of, 
mother dear ? ” cried Kit, in a choking voice. 

“/ believe it ! ” exclaimed the poor woman, that 

never knew you tell a lie, or do a bad action from 
your cradle — that have never had a moment’s sorrow 
on your account, except it was for the poor meals that 
you have taken with such good-humor and content, that 
I forgot how little there was, when I thought how kind 
and thoughtful you were, though you were but a child ! 
— I believe it of the son that’s been a comfort to me 
from the hour of his birth to this time, and that I never 
laid down one night in anger with ! I believe it of 
you, Kit ! ” — 

“ Why then, thank God ! ” said Kit, clutching the 
bars with an earnestness that shook them, “ and I can 
bear it, mother ! Come what may, I shall always have 
one drop of happiness in my heart when I think that 
you said that.” 

At this, the poor woman fell a crying again, and 
Barbara’s mother too. And little Jacob, whose dis- 


68 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


jointed thoughts had by this time resolved themselves 
into a pretty distinct impression that Kit couldn’t go 
out for a walk if he wanted, and that there were no 
birds, lions, tigers, or other natural curiosities behind 
those bars — nothing indeed, but a caged brother — 
added his tears to theirs with as little noise as pos 
eible. 

Kit’s mother, drying her eyes (and moistening them, 
poor soul, more than she dried them), now took from 
the ground a small basket, and submissively addressed 
herself to the turnkey, saying, would he please to listen 
to her for a minute ? The turnkey, being in the very 
crisis and passion of a joke, motioned to her with his 
hand to keep silent one minute longer, for her life. 
Nor did he remove his hand into its former posture, 
but kept it in the same warning attitude until he had 
finished the paragraph, when he paused for a few sec- 
onds, with a smile upon his face, as who should say, 
“ this editor is a comical blade — a funny dog,” and 
then asked her what she wanted. 

“ I have brought him a little something to eat,” said 
the good woman. “ If you please, sir, might he have 
it ? ” 

“ Yes, — he may have it. There’s no rule against 
that. Give it to me when you go, and I’ll take care 
he has it.” 

“ No, but if you please, sir — don’t be angry witl 
me, sir — I am his mother, and you had a mother one 
• — if I might only see him eat a little bit, I should go 
away, so much more satisfied that he was all comfort- 
able.” 

And again the tears of Kit’s mother burst forth, and 
uf Barbara’s mother, and of little Jacob. As to the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


69 


baby, it was crowing and laughing with all its might — 
under the idea, apparently, that the whole scene had 
been invented and got up for its particular satisfac- 
tion. 

The turnkey looked as if he thought the request a 
strange one and rather out of the common way, but 
nevertheless he laid down his paper, and coming round 
to where Kit’s mother stood, took the basket from her, 
and after inspecting its contents, handed it to Kit, and 
went back to his place. It may be easily conceived that 
the prisoner had no great appetite, but he sat down on 
the ground, and ate as hard as he could, while, at every 
morsel he put into his mouth, his mother sobbed and 
wept afresh, though with a softened grief that bespoke 
the satisfaction the sight afforded her. 

While he was thus engaged, Kit made some anxious 
inquiries about his employers, and whether they had ex- 
pressed any opinion concerning him ; but all he could 
learn was, that Mr. Abel had himself broken the intel- 
ligence to his mother, with great kindness and delicacy, 
late on the previous night, but had himself expressed 
no opinion of his innocence or guilt. Kit was on the 
point of mustering courage to ask Barbara’s mother 
about Barbara, when the turnkey who had conducted 
him reappeared, a second turnkey appeared behind his 
visitors, and the third turnkey with the newspaper cried 
u Time’s up ! ” — adding in the same breath “ Now for 
the next party ! ” and then plunging deep into his news- 
paper again. Kit was taken off in an instant, with a 
blessing from his mother, and a scream from little Jacob, 
ringing in his ears. As he was crossing *he next yard 
with the basket in his hand, under the guidance of 
his former conductor, another officer called to them to 


70 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


stop, and eame up with a pint-pot of porter in his 
hand. 

“ This is Christopher Nubbles isn’t it, that come in 
last night for felony ? ” said the man. 

His comrade replied that this was the chicken in 
question. 

“ Then here’s your beer,” said the other man to Chris- 
topher. “ What are you looking at ? There a’n’t a dis- 
charge in it.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Kit. “ Who sent it me ? ” 

“Why, your friend,” replied the man. “ You’re to 
have it every day, he says. And so you will, if he pays 
for it.” 

“ My friend ! ” repeated Kit. 

“ You’re all abroad, seemingly,” returned the other 
man. “ There’s his letter. Take hold ! ” 

Kit took it, and when he was locked up again, read 
as follows : — 

“Drink of this cup, you’ll find there’s a spell in its 
every drop ’gainst the ills of mortality. Talk of the 
cordial that sparkled for Helen ! Her cup was a fiction, 
but this is reality (Barclay and Co.’s). If they ever 
send it in a flat state, complain to the Governor. 

“Yours R. S” 

“ R. S. ! ” said Kit, after some consideration. “ It 
must be Mr. Richard Swiveller. Well, it’s very kind of 
him, and I thank him heartily 'l ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


71 


CHAPTER LXII. 

A paint light, twinkling from the window of the 
counting-house on Quilp’s wharf, and looking inflamed 
and red through the night-fog, as though it suffered 
from it like an eye, forewarned Mr. Sampson Brass, as 
he approached the wooden cabin with a cautious step, 
that the excellent proprietor, his esteemed client, was 
inside, and probably waiting with his accustomed pa- 
tience and sweetness of temper the fulfilment of the 
appointment which now brought Mr. Brass within his 
fair domain. 

“ A treacherous place to pick one’s steps in, of a dark 
night,” muttered Sampson, as he stumbled for the twen- 
tieth time over some stray lumber, and limped in pain. 
“ I believe that boy strews the ground differently every 
day, on purpose to bruise and maim one ; unless his 
master does it with his own hands, which is more than 
likely. I hate to come to this place without Sally. 
She’s more protection than a dozen men.” 

As he paid this compliment to the merit of the ab- 
sent charmer, Mr. Brass came to a halt ; looking doubt- 
fully towards the light, and over his shoulder. 

“ What’s he about, I wonder ? ” murmured the lawyer, 
standing on tiptoe and endeavoring to obtain a glimpse 
of what was passing inside, which at that distance was 
impossible — “ drinking, I suppose, — making himself 


72 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


more fiery and furious, and heating his malice and mis- 
chievousness till they boil. I’m always afraid to come 
here by myself, when his account’s a pretty large 
one. I don’t believe he’d mind throttling me, and drop- 
ping me softly into the river, when the tide was at ita 
strongest, any more than he’d mind killing a rat — in- 
deed I don’t know whether he wouldn’t consider it a 
pleasant joke. Hark ! Now he’s singing ! ” 

Mr. Quilp was certainly entertaining himself with 
vocal exercise, but it w r as rather a kind of chant than a 
song ; being a monotonous repetition of one sentence in 
a very rapid manner, with a long stress upon the last 
word, which he swelled into a dismal roar. Nor did 
the burden of this performance bear any reference to 
love, or war, or wine, or loyalty, or any other, the stand- 
ard topics of song, but to a subject not often set to 
music or generally known in ballads ; the words being 
these : — “ The worthy magistrate, after remarking that 
the prisoner would find some difficulty in persuading a 
jury to believe his tale, committed him to take his trial 
at the approaching sessions ; and directed the custom- 
ary recognizances to be entered into for the pros-e- 
cu-tion.” 

Every time he came to this concluding word, and had 
exhausted all possible stress upon it, Quilp burst into a 
shriek of laughter, and began again. 

u He’s dreadfully imprudent,” muttered Brass, after 
he had listened to two or three repetitions of the chant, 
* Horribly imprudent. I wish he was dumb. I wish he 
was deaf. I wish he was blind. Hang him,” cried 
Brass, as the chant began again. “I wish he was 
dead ! ” 

Giving utterance to these friendly aspirations in behalf 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


73 


j>f his client, Mr. Sampson composed his face into its 
usual state of smoothness, and waiting until the shriek 
came again and was dying away, went up to the wooden 
house, and knocked at the door. 

44 Come in ! ” cried the dwarf. 

44 How do you do to-night sir ? ” said Sampson, peep- 
ing in. “ Ha, ha, ha ! How do you do sir ? Oh dear 
me, how very whimsical ! Amazingly whimsical to be 
sure ! ” 

44 Come in, you fool ! ” returned the dwarf, 44 and don’t 
stand there shaking your head and showing your teeth. 
Come in, you false witness, you perjurer, you suborner 
of evidence, come in ! ” 

44 He has the richest humor ! ” cried Brass, shutting 
the door behind him ; 44 the most amazing vein of comi 
cality ! But isn’t it rather injudicious sir ? ” — 

44 What ?” demanded Quilp, 44 What, Judas ? ” 

44 Judas ! ” cried Brass. 44 He has such extraordinary 
spirits! His humor is so extremely playful! Judas! 
Oh yes — dear me, how very good! Ha, ha, ha!” 

All this time, Sampson was rubbing his hands, and 
staring, with ludicrous surprise and dismay, at a great, 
goggle-eyed, blunt-nosed figure-head of some old ship, 
which was reared up against the wall in a corner near 
the stove, looking like a goblin or hideous idol whom the 
dwarf worshipped. A mass of timber on its head, carved 
into the dim and distant semblance of a cocked hat, to- 
gether with a representation of a star on the left breast 
and epaulettes on the shoulders, denoted that it was in- 
tended for the effigy of some famous admiral ; but, with- 
out those helps, any observer might have supposed it the 
authentic portrait of a distinguished merman, or great 
sea-monster. Being originally much too large for the 


74 


TIIE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


apartment which it was now employed to decorat e, it had 
been sawn short off at the waist. Even in this state it 
reached from floor to ceiling ; and thrusting itself for- 
ward, with that excessively wide-awake aspect, and air 
of somewhat obtrusive politeness, by which figure-heads 
are usually characterized, seemed to reduce everything 
else to mere pigmy proportions. 

" Do you know it ? ” said the dwarf, watching Samp- 
son’s eyes. “ Do you see the likeness ? ” 

“ Eh ? ” said Brass, holding his head on one side, and 
throwing it a little back, as connoisseurs do. “ Now I 
look at it again, I fancy I see a — yes, there certainly is 
something in the smile that reminds me of — and yet 
upon my word I ” — 

Now, the fact was, that Sampson, having never seen 
anything in the smallest degree resembling this substan- 
tial phantom, was much perplexed ; being uncertain 
whether Mr. Quilp considered it like himself, and had 
therefore bought it for a family portrait ; or whether he 
was pleased to consider it as the likeness of some enemy. 
He was not very long in doubt ; for, while he was sur- 
veying it with that knowing look which people assume 
when they are contemplating for the first time portraits 
which they ought to recognize but don’t, the dwarf threw 
down the newspaper from which he had been chanting 
the words already quoted, and seizing a rusty iron bar, 
which he used in lieu of poker, dealt the figure such a 
stroke on the nose that it rocked again. 

“ Is it like Kit — is it his picture, his image, his very 
self?” cried the dwarf, aiming a shower of blows at the 
insensible countenance, and covering it with deep dim- 
ples. u Is it the exact model and counterpart of the dog 
— is it — is it — is it ? ” And with every repetition of 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


75 


the question, he battered the great image, until the per- 
spiration streamed down his face with the violence of the 
exercise. 

Although this might have been a very comical thing to 
look at from a secure gallery, as a bull-fight is found to 
be a comfortable spectacle by those who are not in the 
arena, and a house on fire is better than a play to people 
who don’t live near it, there was something in the ear* 
nestness of Mr. Quilp’s manner which made his legal 
adviser feel that the counting-house was a little too small, 
and a deal too lonely, for the complete enjoyment of these 
humors. Therefore, he stood as far off as he could, while 
the dwarf was thus engaged ; whimpering out but feeble 
applause ; and when Quilp left off and sat down again 
from pure exhaustion, approached with more obsequious- 
ness than ever. 

“ Excellent indeed ! ” cried Brass. “ He, he ! Oh, 
very good, sir. You know,” said Sampson, looking round 
as if in appeal to the bruised admiral, “ he’s quite a re- 
markable man — quite ! ” 

“ Sit down,” said the dwarf. “ I bought the dog yes- 
terday. I’ve been screwing gimlets into him, and stick- 
ing forks in his eyes, and cutting my name on him. I 
mean to burn him at last.” 

“ Ha, ha ! ” cried Brass. “ Extremely entertaining, 
indeed ! ” 

“ Come here ! ” said Quilp, beckoning him to draw 
near. “What’s injudicious, hey?” 

“ Nothing sir — nothing. Scarcely worth mentioning 
sir ; but I thought that song — admirably 1 umorous in 
itself you know — was perhaps rather ” — 

“ Yes,” said Quilp, “ rather what ? ” 

* Just bordering, or as one may say remotely verging, 


76 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


upon the confines of injudiciousness perhaps sir,” re- 
turned Brass, looking timidly at the dwarf’s cunning eyes, 
which were turned towards the fire and reflected its red 
light. 

“ Why ? ” inquired Quilp, without looking up. 

“ Why, you know sir,” returned Brass, venturing to 
be more familiar : “ — the fact is sir, that any allusion to 
these little combinings together, of friends, for objects in 
themselves extremely laudable, but which the law terms 
conspiracies, are — you take me sir ? — best kept snug 
and among friends, you know.” 

“ Eh ! ” said Quilp, looking up with a perfectly vacant 
countenance. “ What do you mean ? ” 

“ Cautious, exceedingly cautious, very right and prop- 
er ! ” cried Brass, nodding his head. “ Mum sir, even 
here — my meaning sir, exactly.” 

“ Your meaning exactly, you brazen scarecrow, — 
what’s your meaning ? ” retorted Quilp. “ Why do you 
talk to me of combining together ? Do I combine ? Do 
I know anything about your combinings ? ” 

“ No no, sir — certainly not ; not by any means,” re- 
turned Brass. 

“ If you so wink and nod at me,” said the dwarf, look- 
ing about him as if for his poker, “ I’ll spoil the expres- 
sion of your monkey’s face, I will.” 

“ Don’t put yourself out of the way I beg sir,” re- 
joined Brass, checking himself with great alacrity. 
“ You’re quite right sir, quite right. I shouldn’t have 
mentioned the subject sir. It’s much better not to. 
You’re quite right sir. Let us change it, if you please. 
You were asking, sir, Sally told me, about our lodger. 
He has not returned sir.” 

“ No ? ” said Quilp, heating some rum in a little sauce- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


77 


pan, and watching it to prevent its boiling over. “ Why 
not ? ” 

“ Why sir,” returned Brass, “ he — dear me, Mr. 
Quilp sir ” — 

“ What’s the matter ? ” said the dwarf, stopping his 
hand in the act of carrying the saucepan to his mouth. 

“ You have forgotten the water sir,” said Brass. “ And 
— excuse me sir — but it’s burning hot.” 

Deigning no other than a practical answer to this 
remonstrance, Mr. Quilp raised the hot saucepan to his 
lips, and deliberately drank off all the spirit it contained, 
which might have been in quantity about half a pint, and 
had been but a moment before, when he took it off the 
fire, bubbling and hissing fiercely. Having swallowed 
this gentle stimulant, and shaken his fist at the admiral, 
he bade Mr. Brass proceed. 

“But first,” said Quilp, with his accustomed grin, 
“ have a drop yourself — a nice drop — a good, warm, 
fiery drop.” 

“ Why sir,” replied Brass, “ if there was such a thing as 
a mouthful of water that could be got without trouble ” — 

“There’s no such thing to be had here,” cried the 
dwarf. “ Water for lawyers ! Melted lead and brim- 
stone, you mean, nice hot blistering pitch and tar — that’s 
the thing for them — eh Brass, eh ? ” 

“ Ha, ha, ha ! ” laughed Mr. Brass. “ Oh very biting ! 
and yet it’s like being tickled — there’s a pleasure in it 
too, sir!” 

“ Drink that,” said the dwarf, who had by this time 
heated some more. “ Toss it off, don’t leave any heel- 
tap, scorch your throat and be happy ! ” 

The wretched Sampson took a few short sips of the 
liquor, which immediately distilled itself into burning 


78 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


tears, and in that form came rolling down his cheeks 
into the pipkin again, turning the color of his face and 
eyelids to a dep red, and giving rise to a violent fit of 
coughing, in the midst of which he was still heard to 
declare, with the constancy of a martyr, that it was 
w beautiful indeed ! ” While he was yet in unspeakable 
agonies, the dwarf renewed their conversation. 

“ The lodger,” said Quilp, — “ what about him ? ” 

“ He is still sir,” returned Brass, with intervals of 
coughing, “ stopping with the Garland family. He has 
only been home once, sir, since the day of the examina- 
tion of that culprit. He informed Mr. Richard sir, that 
he couldn’t bear the house after what had taken place ; 
that he was wretched in it ; and that he looked upon 
himself as being in a certain kind of way the cause of 
the occurrence. — A very excellent lodger sir. I hope 
we may not lose him.” 

“ Yah ! ” cried the dwarf. “ Never thinking of any- 
body but yourself — why don’t you retrench then — 
scrape up, hoard, economize, eh ? ” 

“ Why sir,” replied Brass, “ upon my word I think 
Sarah’s as good an economizer as any going. I do in- 
deed, Mr. Quilp.” 

“ Moisten your clay, wet the other eye, drink man ! " 
cried the dwarf. “ You took a clerk to oblige me.” 

“ Delighted sir, I am sure, at any time,” replied Samp- 
son. “ Yes sir, I did.” 

“ Then, now you may discharge him,” said Quilp. 
u There’s a means of retrenchment for you at once.” 

“ Discharge Mr. Richard sir ? ” cried Brass. 

“ Have you more than one clerk, you parrot, that you 
ftsk the question ? Yes.” 

“ Upon my word sir,” said Brass. “ I wasn’t prepared 
for this ” — 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


79 


“ How could you be ? ” sneered the dwarf, “ when 1 
wasn’t ? How often am I to tell you that I brought him 
to you that I might always have my eye on him and 
know where he was — and that I had a plot, a scheme, 
a little quiet piece of enjoyment afoot, of which the very 
cream and essence was, that this old man and grandchild 
(who have sunk underground I think) should be, while 
he and his precious friend believed them rich, in reality 
as poor as frozen rats?” 

“ I quite understood that sir,” rejoined Brass. “ Thor- 
oughly.” 

“Well sir,” retorted Quilp, “and do you understand 
now, that they’re not poor — that they can’t be, if they 
have such men as your lodger searching for them, and 
scouring the country far and wide.” 

“ Of course I do sir,” said Sampson. 

“ Of course you do,” retorted the dwarf, viciously 
snapping at his words. “ Of course do you understand 
then, that it’s no matter what comes of this fellow ? of 
course do you understand that for any other purpose 
he’s no man for me, nor for you ? ” 

“ I have frequently said to Sarah sir,” returned Brass, 
“that he was of no use at all in the business. You can’t 
put any confidence in him sir. If you’ll believe me I’ve 
found that fellow, in the commonest little matters of the 
office that have been trusted to him, blurting out the 
truth, though expressly cautioned. The aggravation of 
that chap sir, has exceeded anything you can imagine, it 
has indeed. Nothing but the respect and obligation I 
owe to you sir ” — 

As it was plain that Sampson was bent on a compli- 
mentary harangue, unless he received a timely interrup- 
tion, Mr. Quilp politely tapped him on the crown of hia 


80 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


head with the little saucepan, and requested that he 
would be so obliging as to hold his peace. 

“ Practical, sir, practical,” said Brass, rubbing the 
place and smiling ; “ but still extremely pleasant — im- 
mensely so ! ” 

“ Hearken to me, will you ? ” returned Quilp, u or I’ll 
be a little more pleasant, presently. There’s no chance 
of his comrade and friend returning. The scamp has 
been obliged to fly, as I learn, for some knavery, and has 
found his way abroad. Let him rot there.” 

“Certainly sir. Quite proper. — Forcible!” cried 
Brass, glancing at the admiral again, as if he made a 
third in company. “ Extremely forcible ! ” 

“ I hate him,” said Quilp between his teeth, “ and 
have always hated him, for family reasons. Besides, he 
was an intractable ruffian ; otherwise he would have 
been of use. This fellow' is pigeon-hearted, and light- 
headed. I don’t want him any longer. Let him hang 
or drown — starve — go to the devil.” 

“ By all means, sir,” returned Brass. “ When would 
you wish him sir, to — ha, ha ! — to make that little ex- 
cursion ? ” 

“ When this trial’s over,” said Quilp. “ As soon as 
that’s ended, send him about his business.” 

“ It shall be done, sir,” returned Brass ; “ by all 
means. It will be rather a blow to Sarah, sir, but she 
has all her feelings under control. Ah, Mr. Quilp, I 
often think sir, if it had only pleased Providence to 
bring you and Sarah together, in earlier life, what 
blessed results would have flowed from such a union ! 
You never saw our dear father, sir ? — A charming gen- 
tleman. Sarah was his pride and joy, sir. He would 
have closed his eyes in bliss, would Foxey, Mr. Quilp, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


81 


if he could have found her such a partner. You esteem 
her, sir ? ” 

“ I love her,” croaked the dwarf. 

“ You’re very good, sir,” returned Brass, “ I am sure. 
Is there any other order, sir, that I can take a note of, 
besides this little matter of Mr. Bichard? ” 

“ None,” replied the dwarf, seizing the saucepan. 
u Let us drink the lovely Sarah.” 

“ If we could do it in something, sir, that wasn’t quite 
boiling,” suggested Brass humbly, “ perhaps it would be 
better. I think it will be more agreeable to Sarah’s 
feelings, when she comes to hear from me of the honor 
you have done her, if she learns it was in liquor rather 
cooler than the last, sir.” 

But to these remonstrances, Mr. Quilp turned a deaf 
ear. Sampson Brass, who was, by this time, anything 
but sober, being compelled to take further draughts of 
the same strong bowl, found that, instead of at all con- 
tributing to his recovery, they had the novel effect of 
making the counting-house spin round and round with 
extreme velocity, and causing the floor and ceiling to 
•heave in a very distressing manner. After a brief stu- 
por, he awoke to a consciousness of being partly under 
the table and partly under the grate. This position not 
being the most comfortable one he could have chosen 
for himself, he managed to stagger to his feet, and, hold- 
ing on by the admiral, looked round for his host. 

Mr. Brass’s first impression was, that his host was 
gone and had left him there alone — perhaps locked him 
in for the night. A strong smell of tobacco, however, 
luggesting a new train of ideas, he looked upward, and 
paw that the dwarf was smoking in his hammock. 

“ Good-by, sir,” cried Brass faintly. u Good-by, sir.” 
yol. hi. 6 


82 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Won’t you stop all night?” said the dwarf, peeping 
out. “ Do stop all night ! ” 

“ I couldn’t indeed, sir,” replied Brass, who was al- 
most dead from nausea and the closeness of the room. 
M If you’d have the goodness to show me a light, so that 
I may see my way across the yard, sir ” — 

Quilp was out in an instant ; not with his legs first, or 
his head first, or his arms first, but bodily — altogether. 

u To be sure,” he said, taking up a lantern, which w r as 
now the only light in the place. “ Be careful how you 
go, my dear friend. Be sure to pick your way among 
the timber, for all the rusty nails are upwards. There’s 
a dog in the lane. He bit a man last night, and a 
woman the night before, and last Tuesday he killed a 
child — but that was in play. Don’t go too near him.” 

“ Which side of the road is he, sir ? ” asked Brass, in 
great dismay. 

“ He lives on the right hand,” said Quilp, “ but some- 
times he hides on the left, ready for a spring. He’s un- 
certain in that respect. Mind you take care of yourself. 
I’ll never forgive you if you don’t. There’s the light out 
— never mind — you know the way — straight on ! ” 
Quilp had slyly shaded the light by holding it against 
his breast, and now stood chuckling and shaking from 
head to foot in a rapture of delight, as he heard the law- 
yer stumbling up the yard, and now and then falling 
heavily down. At length, however, he got quit of the 
place, and was out of hearing. 

The dwarf shut himself up again, and sprang once 
more into his hammock. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


83 


CHAPTER LX III. 

The professional gentleman who had given Kit that 
consolatory piece of information relative to the settle- 
ment of his trifle of business at the Old Bailey, and the 
probability of its being very soon disposed of, turned out 
to be quite correct in his prognostications. In eight 
days’ time, the sessions commenced. In one day after- 
wards, the Grand Jury found a true bill against Chris- 
topher Nubbles for felony ; and in two days from that 
finding, the aforesaid Christopher Nubbles was called 
upon to plead Guilty or Not Guilty to an indictment for 
that he the said Christopher did feloniously abstract and 
steal from the dwelling-house and office of one Sampson 
Brass, gentleman, one bank-note for five pounds issued 
by the Governor and Company of the Bank of England ; 
in contravention of the statutes in that case made and 
provided, and against the peace of our Sovereign Lord 
the King, his crown, and dignity. 

To this indictment, Christopher Nubbles, in a low and 
trembling voice, plead Not Guilty ; and here, let those 
who are in the habit of forming hasty judgments from 
appearances, and who would have had Christopher, if 
innocent, speak out very strong and loud, observe, that 
confinement and anxiety will subdue the stoutest hearts ; 
and that to one who has been close shut up, though it be 
only for ten or eleven days, seeing but stone wallw and a 


84 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


very few stony faces, the sudden entrance into a great 
hall filled with life, is a rather disconcerting and startling 
circumstance. To this, it must be added, that life in a 
wig, is, to a large class of people, much more terrifying 
and impressive than life with its own head of hair ; and 
if, in addition to these considerations, there be taken into 
account Kit’s natural emotion on seeing the two Mr. 
Garlands and the little notary looking on with pale and 
anxious faces, it will perhaps seem matter of no very 
great wonder that he should have been rather out of 
sorts, and unable to make himself quite at home. 

Although he had never seen either of the Mr. Gar 
lartds, or Mr. W.itherden, since the time of his arrest, he 
had been given to understand that they had employed 
counsel for him. Therefore, when .one of the gentlemen 
in wigs got up and said “ I am for the prisoner my 
lord,” Kit made him a bow ; and when another gentle- 
man in a wig got up and said “And I’m against him 
my lord,” Kit trembled very much, and bowed to him 
too. And didn’t he hope in his own heart that his 
gentleman was a match for the other gentleman, and 
would make him ashamed of himself in no time ! 

The gentleman who was against him had to speak 
first, and being in dreadfully good spirits (for he had, 
in the last trial, very nearly procured the acquittal of a 
young gentleman who had had the misfortune to murder 
his father) he spoke up, you may be sure ; telling the 
jury that if they acquitted this prisoner they must ex- 
pect to suffer no less pangs and agonies than he had 
told the other jury they would certainly undergo if they 
convicted that prisoner. And when he had told them 
all about the case, and that he had never known a 
worse case, he stopped a little while, like a man who 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


85 


had something terrible to tell them, and then said that 
he understood an attempt would be made by his learned 
friend (and here he looked sideways at Kit’s gentle- 
man) to impeach the testimony of those immaculate wit- 
nesses whom he should call before them ; but he did 
hope and trust that his learned friend would have a 
greater respect and veneration for the character of the 
prosecutor ; than whom, as he well knew, there did not 
exist, and never had existed, a more honorable member 
of that most honorable profession to which he was at- 
tached. And then he said, did the jury know Bevis 
Marks ? And if they did know Bevis Marks (as he 
trusted, for their own characters, they did) did they 
know the historical and elevating associations connected 
with that most remarkable spot ? Did they believe 
that a man like Brass could reside in a place like 
Bevis Marks, and not be a virtuous and most upright 
character ? And when he had said a great deal to 
them on this point, he remembered that it was an in- 
sult to their understandings to make any remarks on 
what they must have felt so strongly without him, and 
therefore called Sampson Brass into the witness-box, 
straightway. 

Then up comes Mr. Brass, very brisk and fresh ; and, 
having bowed to the judge, like a man who has had the 
pleasure of seeing him before, and who hopes he has 
been pretty well since their last meeting, folds his arms, 
and looks at his gentleman as much as to say “ Here I 
am — full of evidence — Tap me ! ” And the gentle- 
man does tap him presently, and with great discretion 
too ; drawing off the evidence by little and little, and 
making it run quite clear and bright in the eyes of all 
present. Then, Kit’s gentleman takes him in hand, but 


86 


fHE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


can make nothing of him ; and after a great many very 
long questions and very short answers. Mr. Sampson 
Brass goes down in glory. 

To him succeeds Sarah, who in like manner is easy to 
be managed by Mr. Brass’s gentleman, but very obdurate 
to Kit’s. In short, Kit’s gentleman can get nothing out 
of her but a repetition of what she has said before (only 
a little stronger this time, as against his client), and 
therefore lets her go, in some confusion. Then, Mr. 
Brass’s gentleman calls Richard Swiveller, and Richard 
Swiveller appears accordingly. 

Now, Mr. Brass’s gentleman has it whispered in his 
ear that this witness is disposed to be friendly to the 
prisoner — which, to say the truth, he is rather glad 
to hear, as his strength is considered to lie in what is 
familiarly termed badgering. Wherefore, he begins by 
requesting the officer to be quite sure that this witness 
kisses the book, and then goes to work at him, tooth 
and nail. 

“ Mr. Swiveller,” says this gentleman to Dick, when 
he has told his tale with evident reluctance and a desire 
to make the best of it : “ Pray sir, where did you dine 
yesterday ? ” — “ Where did I dine yesterday ? ” — “Ay 
sir, where did you dine yesterday — was it near here 
sir ? ” — “ Oh to be sure — yes — just over the way.” — 
“ To be sure. Yes. Just over the way,” repeats Mr. 
Brass’s gentleman, with a glance at the court — “ Alone 
sir ? ” — “I beg your pardon,” says Mr. Swiveller, who 
has not caught the question — “ Alone sir ? ” repeats Mr. 
Brass’s gentleman in a voice of thunder, “ did you dine 
alone ? Did you treat anybody sir ? Come ! ” — “ Oh 
yes to be sure — yes, I did,” says Mr. Swiveller with a 
smile. “ Have the goodness to banish a levity, sir, which 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


87 


is very ill-suited to the place in which you stand (though 
perhaps you have reason to be thankful that it’s only 
that place),” says Mr. Brass’s gentleman, with a nod of 
the head, insinuating that the dock is Mr. Swiveller’s 
legitimate sphere of action ; “ and attend to me. You 
were waiting about here, yesterday, in expectation that 
this trial was coming on. You dined over the way. 
You treated somebody. Now, was that somebody brother 
to the prisoner at the bar ? ” — Mr. Swiveller is proceed- 
ing to explain — “ Yes or No sir,” cries Mr. Brass’s 
gentleman — “ But will you allow me — ” — “ Yes or 
No sir ” * — “ Yes it was, but — ” — “ Yes it was,” cries 
the gentleman, taking him up short — “ And a very 
pretty witness you are ! ” 

Down sits Mr. Brass’s gentleman. Kit’s gentleman, 
not knowing how the matter really stands, is afraid to 
pursue the subject. Richard Swiveller retires abashed. 
Judge, jury, and spectators, have visions of his lounging 
about, with an ill-looking, large- whiskered, dissolute 
young fellow of six feet high. The reality is, little 
Jacob, with the calves of his legs exposed to the open 
air, and himself tied up in a shawl. Nobody knows 
the truth ; everybody believes a falsehood ; and all be- 
cause of the ingenuity of Mr. Brass’s gentleman. 

Then, come the witnesses to character, and here Mr. 
Brass’s gentleman shines again. It turns out that Mr. 
Garland has had no character with Kit, no recommen- 
dation of him but from his own mother, and that he 
was suddenly dismissed by his former master for un- 
known reasons. “ Really Mr. Garland ” says Mr. 
Brass’s gentleman, “ for a person who has arrived at 
your time of life, you are, to say the least of it, sin- 
gularly indiscreet, I think.” The jury think so too, and 


88 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


find Kit guilty. He is taken off, humbly protesting 
his innocence. The spectators settle themselves in 
their places with renewed attention, for there are sev- 
eral female witnesses to be examined in the next case, 
and it has been rumored that Mr. Brass’s gentleman 
will make great fun in cross-examining them for the 
prisoner. 

Kit’s mother, poor woman, is waiting at the grate 
below stairs, accompanied by Barbara’s mother (who, 
honest soul ! never does anything but cry and hold the 
baby), and a sad interview ensues. The newspaper- 
reading-turnkey has told them all. He don’t think it 
will be transportation for life, because there’s time to 
prove the good character yet, and that is sure to serve 
him. He wonders what he did it for. “ He never did 
it ! ” cries Kit’s mother. “ Well,” says the turnkey, “ I 
won’t contradict you. It’s all one, now, whether he did 
it or not.” 

Kit’s mother can reach his hand through the bars, 
and she clasps it — God, and those to whom He has 
given such tenderness, only know in how much agony. 
Kit bids her keep a good heart, and, under pretence 
of having the children lifted up to kiss him, prays 
Barbara’s mother in a whisper to take her home. 

“ Some friend will rise up for us, mother,” cries Kit, 
u I am sure. If not now, before long. My innocence 
will come out, mother, and I shall be brought back again , 
I feel a confidence in that. You must teach little Jacob 
and the baby how all this was, for if they thought I had 
ever been dishonest, when they grew old enough to un- 
derstand, it would break my heart to know it, if I was 
thousands of miles away. — Oh ! is there no good gen- 
tleman here, who will take care of her ! ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


89 


The hand slips out of his, for the poor creature sinks 
down upon the earth, insensible. Richard Swiveller 
comes hastily up, elbows the by-standers out of the way, 
takes her (after some trouble) in one arm after the man- 
ner of theatrical ravishers, and, nodding to Kit, and 
commanding Barbara’s mother to follow, for he has a 
coach waiting, bears her swiftly off. 

Well ; Richard took her home. And what astonishing 
absurdities in the way of quotation from song and poem, 
he perpetrated on the road, no man knows. He took 
her home, and stayed till she was recovered ; and, hav- 
ing no money to pay the coach, went back in state to 
Bevis Marks, bidding the driver (for it was Saturday 
night) wait at the door while he went in for “ change.” 

“ Mr. Richard sir,” said Brass cheerfully, “ Good eve- 
ning ! ” 

Monstrous as Kit’s tale had appeared, at first, Mr. 
Richard did, that night, half suspect his affable employer 
>f some deep villany. Perhaps it was but the misery 
he had just witnessed which gave his careless nature this 
impulse ; but, be that as it may, it was very strong upon 
him, and he said in as few words as possible, what he 
wanted. 

“ Money ?” cried Brass, taking out his purse. “Ha, 
ha ! To be sure Mr. Richard, to be sure sir. All men 
must live. You haven’t change for a five-pound note, 
have you sir ? ” 

“ No,” returned Dick, shortly. 

“ Oh ! ” said Brass, “ here’s the very sum That saves 
frouble. You’re very welcome I’m sure. — Mr. Richard 
sir ” — 

Dick, who had by this time reached th e door, turned 
round. 


90 


THE OLI> CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ You needn’t,” said Brass, “ trouble yourself to come 
back any more sir.” 

“ Eh?” 

“ You see, Mr. Richard,” said Brass, thrusting his 
hands in his pockets, and rocking himself to and fro on 
his stool, “ the fact is, that a man of your abilities is lost 
sir, quite lost, in our dry and mouldy line. It’s terrible 
drudgery — shocking. I should say, now, that the stage, 
or the — or the army Mr. Richard — or something very 
superior in the licensed victualling way — was the kind 
of thing that would call out the genius of such a man as 
you. I hope you’ll look in to see us now and then. 
Sally, sir, will be delighted I’m sure. She’s extremely 
sorry to lose you Mr. Richard, but a sense of her duty to 
society reconciles her. An amazing creature that, sir ! 
You’ll find the money quite correct, I think. There’s a 
cracked window sir, but I’ve not made any deduction on 
that account. Whenever we part with friends, Mr. 
Richard, let us part liberally. A delightful sentiment 
sir ! ” 

To all these rambling observations, Mr. Swiveller an- 
swered not one word, but, returning for the aquatic 
jacket, rolled it into a tight round ball : looking steadily 
at Brass meanwhile as if he had some intention of bowl- 
ing him down with it. He only took it under his arm, 
however, and marched out of the office in profound si- 
lence. When he had closed the door, he reopened it, 
stared in again for a few moments with the same porten- 
tous gravity, and nodding his head once, in a slow and 
ghost-like manner, vanished. 

He paid the coachman, and turned his back on Bevis 
Marks, big with great designs for the comforting of Kit’s 
mother, and the aid of Kit himself. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


91 


But, the lives of gentlemen devoted to such pleasures 
as Richard Swiveller, are extremely precarious. The 
spiritual excitement of the last fortnight, working upon 
a system affected in no slight degree by the spirituous 
excitement of some years, proved a little too much for 
him. That very night, Mr. Richard was seized with ar 
alarming illness, and in twenty -four hours was stricken 
with a raging fever. 


92 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LX IV. 

Tossing to and fro upon his hot, uneasy bed ; tor- 
mented by a fierce thirst which nothing could appease ; 
unable to find, in any change of posture, a moment’s 
peace or ease ; and rambling, ever, through deserts of 
thought where there was no resting-place, no sight or 
sound suggestive of refreshment or repose, nothing but a 
dull eternal weariness, with no change but the restless 
shiftings of his miserable body, and the weary wander- 
ings of his mind, constant still to one ever-present anx- 
iety — to a sense of something left undone, of some 
fearful obstacle, to be surmounted, of some carking care 
that would not be driven away, and which haunted the 
distempered brain, now in this form, now in that, always 
shadowy and dim, but recognizable for the same phantom 
in every shape it took ; darkening every vision like an 
evil conscience, and making slumber horrible — in these 
slow tortures of his dread disease, the unfortunate Rich- 
ard lay wasting and consuming inch by inch, until, at 
last, when he seemed to fight and struggle to rise up, 
and to be held down by devils, he sank into a deep 
sleep, and dreamed no more. 

He awoke. With a sensation of most blissful rest, 
better than sleep itself, he began gradually to remember 
something of these sufferings, and to think what a long 
night it had been, and whether he had not been delirious 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


93 


twice or thrice. Happening, in the midst of these cogi- 
tations, to raise his hand, he was astonished to find how 
heavy it seemed, and yet how thin and light it really 
was. Still, he felt indifferent and happy ; and having 
no curiosity to pursue the subject, remained in the same 
waking slumber until his attention was attracted by 
cough. This made him doubt, whether he had locked 
his door last night, and feel a little surprised at having a 
companion in the room. Still he lacked energy to follow 
up this train of thought; and unconsciously fell, in a 
luxury of repose, to staring at some green stripes on the 
bed-furniture, and associating them strangely with patches 
of fresh turf, while the yellow ground between, made 
gravel-walks, and so helped out a long perspective of 
trim gardens. 

He was rambling in imagination on these terraces, 
and had quite lost himself among them indeed, when he 
heard the cough once more. The walks shrunk into 
stripes again at the sound ; and raising himself a little 
in the bed, and holding the curtain open with one hand, 
he looked out. 

The same room certainly, and still by candle-light ; 
but with what unbounded astonishment did he see all 
those bottles, and basins, and articles of linen airing by 
the fire, and such-like furniture of a sick chamber — all 
very clean and neat, but all quite different from anything 
he had left there, when he went to bed ! The atmos- 
phere, too, filled with a cool smell of herbs and vinegar ; 
the floor newly sprinkled ; the — the what ? The Mar- 
chioness ? 

Yes ; playing cribbage with herself at the table. 
There she sat, intent upon her game, coughing now and 
then in a subdued manner as if she feared to disturb him 


94 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


— shuffling the cards, cutting, dealing, playing, counting, 
pegging — going through all the mysteries of cribbage 
as if she had been in full practice from her cradle ! 

Mr. Swiveller contemplated these things for a short 
time, and suffering the curtain to fall into its former po- 
sition, laid his head on the pillow again. 

“ I’m dreaming,” thought Richard, “ that’s clear. 
When I went to bed, my hands were not made of egg- 
shells ; and now I can almost see through ’em. If this 
is not a dream, I have woke up, by mistake, in an Ara- 
bian Night, instead of a London one. But I have no 
doubt I’m asleep. Not the least.” 

Here the small servant had another cough. 

“ Very remarkable ! ” thought Mr. Swiveller. “ I 
never dreamt such a real cough as that, before. I don’t 
know, indeed, that I ever dreamt either a cough or a 
sneeze. Perhaps it’s part of the philosophy of dreams 
that one never does. Thei'e’s another — and another — 
I say ! — I’m dreaming rather fast ! ” 

For the purpose of testing his real condition, Mr. 
Swiveller, after some reflection, pinched himself in the 
arm. 

“ Queerer still ! ” he thought. “ I came to bed rather 
plump than otherwise, and now there’s nothing to lay 
hold of. I’ll take another survey.” 

The result of this additional inspection was, to con- 
vince Mr. Swiveller that the objects by which he was 
surrounded were real, and that he saw them, beyond all 
question, with his waking eyes. 

“ It’s an Arabian Night ; that’s what it is,” said Rich- 
ard. “I’m in Damascus or Grand Cairo. The Mar- 
chioness is a Genie, and having had a wager with an- 
other Genie about who is the handsomest young man 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


95 


alive, and the worthiest to be the husband of the Prin- 
cess of China, has brought me away, room and all, to 
compare us together. Perhaps,” said Mr. Swiveller, 
turning languidly round on his pillow, and looking on 
that side of his bed which was next the wall, “ the Pi in- 
cess may be still — No, she’s gone.” 

Not feeling quite satisfied with this explanation, as, 
even taking it to be the correct one, it still involved a 
little mystery and doubt, Mr. Swiveller raised the cur- 
tain again, determined to take the first favorable oppor- 
tunity of addressing his companion. An occasion soon 
presented itself. The Marchioness dealt, turned up a 
knave, and omitted to take the usual advantage ; upon 
which, Mr. Swiveller called out as loud as he could — 
“ Two for his heels ! ” 

The Marchioness jumped up quickly and clapped her 
hands. “Arabian Night, certainly,” thought Mr. Swivel- 
ler ; “ they always clap their hands instead of ringing 
the beM. Now for the two thousand black slaves, with 
jars of jewels on their heads ! ” • 

It appeared, however, that she had only clapped her 
hands for joy ; as, directly afterwards she began to 
laugh, and then to cry ; declaring, not in choice Arabic 
but in familiar English, that she was “so glad, she didn’t 
knew what to do.” 

“ Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, thoughtfully, “ be 
pleased to draw nearer. First of all, will you have the 
goodness to inform me where I shall find my voice ; and 
secondly, what has become of my flesh ? ” 

The Marchioness only shook her head mournfully, 
and cried again ; whereupon Mr, Swiveller (being very 
weak) felt his own eyes affected likewise. 

“I begin to infer, from your manner, and these ap- 


96 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


pearances, Marchioness,” said Richard after a pause, 
and smiling with a trembling lip, “ that I have been ill.” 

u You just have ! ” replied the small servant, wiping 
her eyes. “ And haven’t you been a talking nonsense ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Dick. “ Very ill, Marchioness, have I 
been ? ” 

“ Dead, all but,” replied the small servant. “ I never 
thought you’d get better. Thank Heaven you have ! ” 

Mr. Swiveller was silent for a long wdiile. By and 
by, he began to talk again : inquiring how long he had 
been there. 

“ Three weeks to-morrow,” replied the small servant 

“ Three what ? ” said Dick. 

“ Weeks,” returned the Marchioness emphatically; 
“ three long, slow, weeks.” 

The bare thought of having been in such extremity, 
caused Richard to fall into another silence, and to lie flat 
down again, at his full length. The Marchioness, having 
arranged the bedclothes more comfortably, and Felt that 
his hands and forehead were quite cool — a discovery 
that filled her with delight — cried a little more, and 
then applied herself to getting tea ready, and making 
some thin dry toast. 

While she was thus engaged, Mr. Swiveller looked on 
with a grateful heart, very much astonished to see how 
thoroughly at home she made herself, and attributing 
this attention, in its origin, to Sally Brass, whom, in his 
own mind, he could not thank enough. When the Mar- 
chioness had finished her toasting, she spread a clean 
cloth on a tray, and brought him some crisp slices and a 
great basin of weak tea, with which (she said) the doctor 
had left word he might refresh himself when he awoke. 
She propped him up with pillows, if not as skilfully as 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


97 


if she had been a professional nurse all her life, at least 
as tenderly ; and looked on with unutterable satisfaction 
while the patient — stopping every now and then to 
shake her by the hand — took his poor meal with an 
appetite and relish, which the greatest dainties of the 
earth, under any other circumstances, would have failed 
to provoke. Having cleared away, and disposed every- 
thing comfortably about him again, she sat down at the 
table to take her own tea. 

“ Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, “ how’s Sally ? ” 

# The small servant screwed her face into an expression 
of the very utmost entanglement of slyness, and shook 
her head. 

“ What, haven’t you seen her lately ? ” said Dick. 

“ Seen her ! ” cried the small servant. “ Bless you, 
I’ve run away ! ” 

Mr. Swiveller immediately laid himself down again 
quite flat, and so remained for about five minutes. By 
slow degrees he resumed his sitting posture after that 
lapse of time, and inquired — 

“ And where do you live, Marchioness ? ” 

u Live ! ” cried the small servant. “ Here ! ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Mr. Swiveller. 

And with that he fell down flat again, as suddenly as 
if he had been shot. Thus he remained** motionless and 
bereft of speech, until she had finished her meal, put 
everything in its place, and swept the hearth ; when 
he motioned her to bring a chair to the bedside, and, 
being propped up again, opened a further conversa- 
tion. 

“ And so,” said Dick, “ you have run away ? ” 

^Yes,” said the Marchioness, “and they’ve been a 
tizing of me.” 

VOL. III. 


7 


98 


THE OLD CUKIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Been — I beg your pardon,” said Dick — “ what 
have they been doing ? ” 

“ Been a tizing of me — tizing you know — in the 
newspapers,” rejoined the Marchioness. 

“ Ay, ay,” said Dick, “ advertising ? ” 

The small servant nodded, and winked. Her eyes 
were so red with waking and crying, that the Tragic 
Muse might have winked with greater consistency. 
And so Dick felt. 

“ Tell me,” said he, “ how it was that you thought of 
coming here.” • 

“ Why, you see,” returned the Marchioness, “ when 
you was gone, I hadn’t any friend at all, because the 
lodger he never come back, and I didn’t know where 
either him or you was to be found, you know. But one 
morning, when I was ” — 

“ Was near a key-hole?” suggested Mr. Swiveller, ob- 
serving that she faltered. 

“Well then,” said the small servant, nodding; “when 
I was near the office key-hole — as you see me through, 
you know — I heard somebody saying that she lived 
here, and was the lady whose house you lodged at, and 
that you was took very bad, and wouldn’t nobody come 
and take care of you. Mr. Brass, he says, ‘ It’s no 
business of mine,’ he says ; and Miss Sally, she says, 
‘ He’s a funny chap, but it’s no business of mine ; ’ and 
the lady went away, and slammed the door to, when she 
went out, I can tell you. So I ran away that night, and 
come here, and told ’em you was my brother, and they 
believed me, and I’ve been here ever since.” 

“ This poor little Marchioness has been wearing her- 
self to death ! ” cr?ied Dick. 

“ No I haven’t,” she returned, “ not a bit of it. Don’l 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHGP. 


99 


you mind about me. 1 like sitting up, and I’ve often 
had a sleep, bless you, in one of them chairs. But if 
you could have seen how you tried to jump out o’ 
winder, and if you could have heard how you used to 
keep on singing and making speeches, you wouldn’t 
have believed it — I’m so glad you’re better, Mr. 
Liverer.” 

44 Liverer indeed ! ” said Dick thoughtfully. 44 It’s 
well I am a liverer. I strongly suspect I should have 
died, Marchioness, but for you.” 

At this point, Mr. Swiveller took the small servant’s 
hand in his, again, and being, as we have seen, but poor- 
ly, might in struggling to express his thanks have made 
his eyes as red as hers, but that she quickly changed 
the theme by making him lie down, and urging him to 
keep very quiet. 

44 The doctor,” she told him, 44 said you was to be kept 
quite still, and there was to be no noise nor nothing. 
Now, take a rest, and then we’ll talk again. I’ll sit by 
you, you know. If you shut your eyes, perhaps you’ll 
go to sleep. You’ll be all the better for it, if you 
do.” 

The Marchioness, in saying these words, brought a 
little table to the bedside, took her seat at it, and began 
to work away at the concoction of some cooling drink, 
with the address of a score of chemists. Ricliarc 
Swiveller, being indeed fatigued, fell into a slumber, 
and waking in about half an hour, inquired what time 
it was. 

44 Just gone half after six,” replied his small friend, 
helping him to sit up again. 

44 Marchioness,” said Richard, passing his hand over 
his forehead and turning suddenly round, as though the 


100 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


subject but that moment flashed upon him, “ what has 
become of Kit ? ” 

He had been sentenced to transportation for a great 
many years, she said. 

“Has he gone?” asked Dick — “his mother — >hcw 
is she, — what has become of her?” 

His nurse shook her head, and answered that she 
knew nothing about them. “ But, if I thought,” said 
she, very slowly, “ that you’d keep quiet, and not put 
yourself into another fever, I could tell you — but I 
won’t now.” 

“ Yes, do,” said Dick. “ It will amuse me.” 

“ Oh ! would it though ! ” rejoined the small servant 
with a horrified look. “ I know better than that. Wait 
till you’re better, and then I’ll tell you.” 

Dick looked very earnestly at his little friend : and 
his eyes, being large and hollow from illness, assisted the 
expression so much, that she was quite frightened, and 
besought him not to think any more about it. What 
had already fallen from her, however, had not only 
piqued his curiosity, but seriously alarmed him, where- 
fore he urged her to tell him the worst at once. 

“ Oh ! there’s no worst in it,” said the small servant. 
“ It hasn’t anything to do with you.” 

“ Has it anything to do with — is it anything you 
heard through chinks or key-holes — and that you were 
not intended to hear ? ” asked Dick, in a breathless 
state. 

“ Yes,” replied the small servant. 

“ In — in Bevis Marks ? ” pursued Dick hastily. 
* Conversations between Brass and Sally ? ” 

“ Yes,” cried the small servant again. 

Richard Swiveller thrust his lank arm out of bed. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


101 


and, griping her by the wrist and drawing her close to 
him, bade her out with it, and freely too, or he would 
not answer for the consequences ; being wholly unable 
to endure that state of excitement and expectation. She, 
seeing that he was greatly agitated, and that the effect 5, 
of postponing her revelation might be much more in 
jurious than any that were likely to ensue from its being 
made at once, promised compliance, on condition that the 
patient kept himself perfectly quiet, and abstained from 
starting up or tossing about. 

“But if you begin to do that,” said the small servant, 
“ PH leave off. And so I tell you.” 

“You can’t leave off, till you have gone on,” said 
Dick. “ And do go on, there’s a darling. Speak, sister, 
speak. Pretty Polly say. Oh tell me when, and tell 
me where, pray Marchioness, I beseech you ! ” 

Unable to resist these fervent adjurations, which Rich- 
ard Swiveller poured out as passionately as if they had 
been of the most solemn and tremendous nature, his 
companion spoke thus, — 

“ Well ! Before I run away, I used to sleep in the 
kitchen — where we played cards, you know. Miss 
Sally used to keep the key of the kitchen-door in her 
pocket, and she always come down at night to take away 
the candle and rake out the fire. When she had done 
that, she left me to go to bed in the dark, locked the dooi 
on the outside, put the key in her pocket again, and kept 
me locked up till she come down in the morning — very 
early I can tell you — and let me out. I was terrible 
afraid of being kept like this, because if there was a fire, 
I thought they might forget me and only take care of 
themselves you know. So, whenever I see an old rusty 
key anywhere, I picked it up, and tried if it would fit 


102 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the door, and at last I found in the dust cellar, a key 
that did fit it.” 

Here, Mr. Swiveller made a violent demonstration 
with his legs. But the small servant immediately paus- 
ing in her talk, he subsided again, and pleading a mo- 
mentary forgetfulness of their compact, entreated her to 
proceed. 

“They kept me very short,” said the small servant. 
“ Oh ! you can’t think how short they kept me ! So I 
used to come out at night after they’d gone to bed, and 
feel about in the dark for bits of biscuit, or sangwitches 
that you’d left in the office, or even pieces of orange peel 
to put into cold water and make believe it was wine. 
Did you ever taste orange peel and water?” 

Mr. Swiveller replied that he had never tasted that 
ardent liquor ; and once more urged his friend to resume 
the thread of her narrative. 

“ If you make believe very much, it’s quite nice,” said 
the small servant ; “ but if you don’t, you know, it seems 
as if it would bear a little more seasoning, certainly. 
Well, sometimes I used to come out after they’d gone to 
bed, and sometimes before, you know ; and one or two 
nights before there was all that precious noise in the 
office — when the young man was took, I mean — I 
come up-stairs while Mr. Brass and Miss Sally was a 
sittin’ at the office fire ; and I’ll tell you the truth, that I 
come to listen again, about the key of the safe.” 

Mr. Swiveller gathered up his knees so as to make 
a great cone of the bedclothes, and conveyed into his 
countenance an expression of the utmost concern. But, 
the small servant pausing, and holding up her finger, the 
cone gently disappeared, though the look of concern did 
not. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


103 


“ There was him and her,” said the small servant, 44 a 
sittin’ by the fire, and talking softly together. Mr. Brass 
says to Miss Sally, 4 Upon my word,’ he says, 4 it’s a 
dangerous thing, and it might get us into a world of 
trouble, and I don’t half like it.’ She says — you know 
her way — she says, 4 You’re the chickenest-hearted, fee- 
blest, faintest man I ever see, and I think,’ she says, 

4 that I ought to have been the brother, and you the sister 
Isn’t Quilp,’ she says, 4 our principal support?’ 4 He* 
certainly is,’ says Mr. Brass. 4 And a’n’t we,’ she says, 

4 constantly ruining somebody or other in the way of 
business?’ 4 We certainly are,’ says Mr. Brass. ‘Then 
does it signify,’ she says, 4 about ruining this Kit when 
Quilp desires it?’ 4 It certainly does not signify,’ says 
Mr. Brass. Then, they whispered and laughed for a 
long time about there being no danger if it was well 
done, and then Mr. Brass pulls out his pocket-book, and 
says, 4 Well,’ he says, 4 here it is — Quilp’s own five- 
pound note. We’ll agree that way then,’ he says. 4 Kit’s 
coming to-morrow morning, I know. While he’s up- 
stairs, you’ll get out of the way, and I’ll clear off Mr. 
Richard Having Kit alone, I’ll hold him in conversa- 
tion, and put this property in his hat. I’ll manage so, 
besides,’ he says, 4 that Mr. Richard shall find it there, 
and be the evidence. And if that don’t get Christopher 
out of Mr. Quilp’s way, and satisfy Mr. Quilp’s grudges,’ 
he says, 4 the Devil’s in it.’ Miss Sally laughed, and 
said that was the plan, and as they seemed to be moving 
away, and I was afraid to stop any longer, I went down- 
stairs again. — There ! ” 

The small servant had gradually worked herself into 
as much agitation as Mr. Swiveller, and therefore made 
no effort to restrain him when he sat up in bed and 


104 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


hastily demanded whether this story had been told to 
anybody. 

“ How could it be ? ” replied his nurse. “ I was al* 
most afraid to think about it, and hoped the young man 
would be let off. When I heard ’em say they had found 
lim guilty of what he didn’t do, you was gone, and so 
♦vas the lodger — though I think I should have been 
frightened to tell him, even if he’d been there. Ever 
since I come here, you’ve been out of your senses, and 
what would have been the good of telling you then ? ” 

“Marchioness,” said Mr. Swiveller, plucking off his 
nightcap and flinging it to the other end of the room ; 
“ if you’ll do me the favor to retire for a few minutes 
and see what sort of a night it is, I’ll get up.” 

“ You mustn’t think of such a thing,” cried his nurse. 

“ I must indeed,” said the patient, looking round the 
room. “Whereabouts are my clothes?” 

“ Oh I’m so glad — you haven’t got any,” replied the 
Marchioness. 

“ Ma’am ! ” said Mr. Swiveller, in great astonishment. 

“ I’ve been obliged to sell them, every one, to get the 
things that w^as ordered for you. But don’t take on 
about that,” urged the Marchioness, as Dick fell back 
upon his pillow. “ You’re too weak to stand, indeed ! ” 

“ I am afraid,” said Bichard dolefully, “ that you’re 
right. What ought I to do ! what is to be done ! ” 

It naturally occurred to him on very little reflection, 
hat the first step to take would be to communicate with 
one of the Mr. Garlands instantly. It was very possible 
that Mr. Abel had not yet left the office. In as little 
time as it takes to tell it, the small servant had the ad- 
dress in pencil on a piece of paper ; a verbal description 
of father and son, which would enable her to recognize 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


105 


either without difficulty ; and a special caution to be shy 
of Mr. Chuckster, in consequence of that gentleman’s 
known antipathy to Kit. Armed with these slender 
powers, she hurried away, commissioned to bring either 
old Mr. Garland or Mr. Abel, bodily, to that apartment, 
“ I suppose,” said Dick, as she closed the door slowly 
and peeped into the room again, to make sure that he 
was comfortable, “ I suppose there’s nothing left — noi 
so much as a waistcoat even ? ” 

“ No, nothing.” 

“ It’s embarrassing,” said Mr. Swiveller, “ in case of 
fire — even an umbrella would be something — but you 
did quite right, dear Marchioness. I should have died 
without you ! ” 


1 06 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LXY. 

It was well for the small servant that she was of 
a sharp, quick nature, or the consequence of sending her 
out alone, from the very neighborhood in which it was 
most dangerous for her to appear, would probably have 
been the restoration of Miss Sally Brass to the supreme 
authority over her person. Not unmindful of the risk 
she ran, however, the Marchioness no sooner left the 
house than she dived into the first dark by-way that 
presented itself, and, without any present reference to 
the point to which her journey tended, made it her first 
business to put two good miles of brick and mortar be- 
tween herself and Bevis Marks. 

When she had accomplished this object, she began 
to shape her course for the notary’s office to which — 
shrewdly inquiring of apple-women and oyster-sellers at 
street corners, rather than in lighted shops or of well- 
dressed people, at the hazard of attracting notice — she 
easily procured a direction. As carrier-pigeons, on being 
first let loose in a strange place, beat the air at random 
for a short time, before darting off towards the spot for 
which they are designed, so did the Marchioness flutter 
round and round until she believed herself in safety, 
and then bear swiftly down upon the port for which she 
was bound. 

She had no bonnet — nothing on her head but a 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


107 


great cap which, in some old time, had been worn by 
Sally Brass, whose taste in head-dresses was, as we have 
seen, peculiar — and her speed was rather retarded 'han 
assisted by her shoes, which, being extremely large and 
slipshod, flew off every now and then, and were dif- 
ficult to find again, among the crowd of passengers 
Indeed, the poor little creature experienced so much 
trouble and delay from having to grope for these articles 
of dress in mud and kennel, and suffered in these 
researches so much jostling, pushing, squeezing, and 
bandying from hand to hand, that by the time she 
reached the street in which the notary lived, she was 
fairly worn out and exhausted, and could not refrain 
from tears. 

But to have got there at last was a great comfort, 
especially as there were lights still burning in the office 
window, and therefore some hope that she was not too 
late. So, the Marchioness dried her eyes with the backs 
of her hands, and, stealing softly up the steps, peeped in 
through the glass-door. 

Mr. Chuckster was standing behind the lid of his desk, 
making such preparations towards finishing off for the 
night, as pulling down his wristbands and pulling up his 
shirt-collar, settling his neck more gracefully in his stock, 
and secretly arranging his whiskers by the aid of a little 
triangular bit of looking-glass. Before the ashes of 
the fire, stood two gentlemen, one of whom she rightly 
judged to be the notary, and the other (who was but- 
toning his great-coat, and was evidently about to depart 
immediately) Mr. Abel Garland. 

Having made these observations, the small spy took 
counsel with herself, and resolved to wait in the street 
until Mr Abel came out, as there would be then no 


108 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


fear of having to speak before Mr. Chuckster, and less 
difficulty in delivering her message. With this purpose 
she slipped out again, and, crossing the road, sat down 
upon a door-step just opposite. 

She had hardly taken this position, when there came 
dancing up the street, with his legs all wrong, and his 
head everywhere by turns, a pony. This pony had a 
little phaeton behind him, and a man in it ; but, neither 
man nor phaeton seemed to embarrass him in the least, 
as he reared up on his hind legs, or stopped, or went 
on, or stood still again, or backed, or went sideways, 
without the smallest reference to them, — just as the 
fancy seized him, and as if he were the freest animal in 
creation. When they came to the notary’s door, the man 
called out in a very respectful manner, “ Woa then,” — 
intimating that if he might venture to express a wish, 
it would be that they stopped there. The pony made a 
moment’s pause ; -but, as if it occurred to him that to 
stop when he was required might be to establish an in- 
convenient and dangerous precedent, he immediately 
started off again, rattled at a fast trot to the street- 
corner, wheeled round, came back, and then stopped 
of his own accord. 

“ Oh ! you’re a precious creatur ! ” said the man — 
who didn’t venture by-the-by to come out in his true 
colors until he was safe on the pavement. “ I wish I 
had the rewarding of you, — I do.” 

“ What has he been doing ? ” said Mr. Abel, tying 
a shawl round his neck as he came down the steps. 

“ He’s enough to fret a man’s heart out,” replied the 
hostler. “ He is the most wicious rascal — woa then, 
will you ? ” 

“ He’ll never stand still, if you call him names,” said 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


109 


Mr. Abel, getting in, and taking the reins. “ He’s a 
very good fellow if you know bow to manage him. This 
is the first time he has been out, this long while, foi 
he has lost his old driver and wouldn’t stir for anybody 
else, till this morning. The lamps are right, are they ? 
That’s well. Be here to take him to-morrow, if you 
please. Good-night ! ” 

And, after one or two strange plunges, quite of his 
own invention, the pony yielded to Mr. Abel’s mildness, 
and trotted gently off. 

All this time Mr. Chuckster had been standing at the 
door, and the small servant had been afraid to approach. 
She had nothing for it now, therefore, but to run after 
the chaise, and to call to Mr. Abel to stop. Being out 
of breath when she came up with it, she was unable to 
make him hear. The case was desperate ; for the pony 
was quickening his pace. The Marchioness hung on 
behind for a few moments, and, feeling that she could 
go no farther, and must soon yield, clambered by a 
vigorous effort into the hinder seat, and in so doing lost 
one of the shoes forever. 

Mr. Abel being in a thoughtful frame of mind, and 
having quite enough to do to keep the pony going, went 
jogging on without looking round: little dreaming of 
the strange figure that was close behind him, until 
the Marchioness, having in some degree recovered her 
breath, and the loss of her shoe, and the novelty of 
her position, uttered close into his ear, the words — 

“ I say, sir ” — 

He turned his head quickly enough then, and stop- 
ping the pony, cried, with some trepidation, “ God bless 
me, what is this ! ” 

“ Don’t be frightened, sir,” replied the still pant- 


no 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ing messenger. “ Oh I’ve run such a way after 
you ! ” 

“ What do you want with me ? ” said Mr. Abel. 
u How did you come here ? ” 

“ I got in behind,” replied the Marchioness. “ Oh 
please drive on, sir — don’t stop — and go towards the 
city, will you ? And oh do please make haste, because 
it’s of consequence. There’s somebody wants to see 
you there. He sent me to say would you come directly, 
and that he knowed all about Kit, and could save him 
yet, and prove his innocence.” 

“ What do you tell me, child ? ” 

“ The truth, upon my word and honor I do. But 
please to drive on- — quick, please! I’ve been such a 
time gone, he’ll think I’m lost.” 

Mr. Abel involuntarily urged the pony forward. The 
pony, impelled by some secret sympathy or some new 
caprice, burst into a great pace, and neither slackened 
it, nor indulged in any eccentric performances, until they 
arrived at the door of Mr. Swiveller’s lodging, where, 
marvellous to relate, he consented to stop when Mr. Abel 
checked him. 

“ See ! It’s that room up there,” said the Mar- 
chioness, pointing to one where there was a faint light. 
“ Come ! ” 

Mr. Abel, who was one of the simplest and most retir 
ing creatures in existence, and naturally timid withal, 
hesitated ; for he had heard of people being decoyed 
into strange places to be robbed and murdered, under 
circumstances very like the present, and, for any- 
thing he knew to the contrary, by guides very like the 
Marchioness. His regard for Kit, however, overcame 
every other consideration. So, entrusting Whisker tc 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Ill 


the charge of a man who was lingering hard by in 
expectation of the job, he suffered his companion to 
take his hand, and to lead him up the dark and nar- 
row stairs. 

He was not a little surprised to find himself conducted 
into a dimly-lighted sick chamber, where a man was 
sleeping tranquilly in bed. 

“ A’n’t it nice to see him lying there so q tief ?” said 
his guide, in an earnest whisper. “ Oh ! you’d say it 
was, if you had only seen him two or three days 

ago.” 

Mr. Abel made no answer, and, to say the truth, kept 
a long way from the bed and very near the door. His 
guide, who appeared to understand his reluctance, trim- 
med the candle, and taking it in her hand, approached 
the bed. As she did so, the sleeper started up, and 
he recognized in the wasted face the features of Richard 
Swiveller. 

“ Why, how is this ? ” said Mr. Abel kindly, as he 
hurried towards him. “ You have been ill ? ” 

“Very,” replied Dick. “Nearly dead. You might 
have chanced to hear of your Richard on his bier, 
but for the friend I sent to fetch you. Another shake 
of the hand, Marchioness, if you please. Sit down, 
sir.” 

Mr. Abel seemed rather astonished to hear of the 
quality of his guide, and took a chair by the bedside. 

“ I have sent for you, sir,” said Dick — “ but she told 
you on what account?” 

“ She did. I am quite bewildered by all this. I 
really don’t know what to say or think,” replied Mr, 

4bel. 

“ You’ll say that, presently,” retorted Dick. “ Mar 


112 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


chioness, take a seat on the bed, will you ? Now, tell 
this gentleman all that you told me ; and be particular. 
Don’t you speak another word, «ir.” 

The story was repeated ; it was, in effect, exactly the 
same as before, without any deviation or omission. Rich- 
ard Swiveller kept his eyes fixed on his visitor during 
its narration, and directly it was concluded, took the 
word again. 

“ You have heard it all, and you’ll not forget it. I’m 
too giddy and too queer to suggest anything ; but you 
and your friends will know what to do. After this long 
delay, every minute is an age. If ever you went home 
fast in your life, go home fast to-night. Don’t stop to 
say one word to me, but go. She will be found here, 
whenever she’s wanted ; and as to me, you’re pretty sure 
to find me at home, for a week or two. There are more 
reasons than one for that. Marchioness, a light ! If you 
lose another mimte in looking at me, sir, I’ll never for- 
give you ! ” 

Mr. Abel needed no more remonstrance or persuasion. 
He was gone in an instant ; and the Marchioness, re- 
turning from lighting him down -stairs, reported that the 
pony, without any preliminary objection whatever, had 
dashed away at full gallop. 

“ That’s right ! ” said Dick ; “ and hearty of him ; and 
I honor him from this time. But get some supper and 
a mug of beer, for I am sure you must be tired. Do 
have a mug of beer. It will do me as much good to see 
you take it as if I might drink it myself.” 

Nothing but this assurance could have prevailed upon 
the small nurse to indulge in such a luxury. Having 
eaten and drunk to Mr. Swiveller’s extreme contentment, 
given him his drink, and put everything in neat order, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


113 


she wrapped herself in an old coverlet and lay down 
upon the rug before the fire. 

Mr. Swiveller was by that time murmuring in his 
sleep, “ Strew then, oh strew, a bed of rushes. Here 
will we stay, till morning blushes. Good-night, Mar 
chioness ! ” 


114 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LXYI. 

On awaking in the morning, Richard Swiveller becam« 
conscious, by slow degrees, of whispering voices in his 
room. Looking out between the curtains, he espied Mr. 
Garland, Mr. Abel, the notary, and the single gentleman, 
gathered round the Marchioness, and talking to her with 
great earnestness but in very subdued tones — fearing, 
no doubt, to disturb him. He lost no time in letting them 
know that this precaution was unnecessary, and all four 
gentlemen directly approached his bedside. Old Mr. 
Garland was the first to stretch out his hand and inquire 
how he felt. 

Dick was about to answ'er that he felt much better, 
though still as weak as need be, when his little nurse, 
pushing the visitors aside and pressing up to his pillow 
as if in jealousy of their interference, set his breakfast 
before him, and insisted on his taking it before he under- 
went the fatigue of speaking or of being spoken to. Mr. 
Swiveller who was perfectly ravenous, and had had, all 
night, amazingly distinct and consistent dreams of mutton- 
chops, double stout, and similar delicacies, felt even the 
weak tea and dry toast such irresistible temptations, that 
he consented to eat and drink on one condition. 

“ And that is,” said Dick, returning the pressure of Mr. 
Garland’s hand, “ that you answer me this question truly, 
before I take a bit or drop. Is it too late ? ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


115 


“ For completing the work you began so well last 
night ? ” returned the old gentleman. “ No. Set your 
mind at rest on that point. It is not, I assure you.” 

Comforted by this intelligence, the patient applied 
himself to his food with a keen appetite, though evidently 
not with a greater zest in the eating than his nurse ap- 
peared to have in seeing him eat. The manner of his 
meal was this : — Mr. Swiveller, holding the slice of toast 
or cup of tea in his left hand, and taking a bite or drink, 
as the case might be, constantly kept, in his right, one 
palm of the Marchioness tight locked ; and to shake or 
even to kiss this imprisoned hand, he would stop every 
now and then, in the very act of swallowing, with perfect 
seriousness of intention, and the utmost gravity. As 
often as he put anything into his mouth, whether for eat- 
ing or drinking, the face of the Marchioness lighted up 
beyond all description ; but, whenever he gave her one or 
other of these tokens of recognition, her countenance 
became overshadowed, and she began to sob. Now, 
whether she was in her laughing joy, or in her crying 
one, the Marchioness could not help turning to the vis- 
itors with an appealing look, which seemed to say, “ You 
see this fellow — can I help this ? ” — and they, being 
thus made, as it were, parties to the scene, as regularly 
answered by another look, “ No. Certainly not.” This 
dumb-show, taking place during the whole time of the 
invalid’s breakfast, and the invalid himself, pale and 
emaciated, performing no small part in the same, it may 
be fairly questioned whether at any meal, where no word, 
good or bad, was spoken from beginning to end, so much 
was expressed by gestures in themselves so slight and 
unimportant. 

At length — and to say the truth before very long — 


116 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Mr. Swiveller had dispatched as much toast and tea as 
in that stage of his recovery it was discreet to let him 
have. But, the cares of the Marchioness did not stop 
iiere ; for, disappearing for an instant and presently re- 
turning with a basin of fair water, she laved his face and 
lands, brushed his hair, and in short made him as spruce 
and smart as anybody under such circumstances could be 
made ; and all this, in as brisk and business-like a man- 
ner, as if he were a very little boy, and she his grown-up 
nurse. To these various attentions, Mr. Swiveller sub- 
mitted in a kind of grateful astonishment beyond the 
reach of language. When they were at last brought to 
an end, and the Marchioness had withdrawn into a dis- 
tant corner to take her own poor breakfast (cold enough 
by that time), he turned his face away for some few mo- 
ments, and shook hands heartily with the air. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Dick, rousing himself from this 
pause, and turning round again, “ you’ll excuse me. Men 
who have been brought so low as I have been, are easily 
fatigued. I am fresh again now, and fit for talking. 
We’re short of chairs here, among other trifles, but if 
you’ll do me the favor to sit upon the bed ” 

“ What can we do for you ? ” said Mr. Garland kindly. 

“ If you could make the Marchioness yonder, a Mar- 
chioness, in real, sober earnest,” returned Dick, “ I ’d 
thank you to get it done off-hand. But as you can’t, and 
as the question is not what you will do for me, but 
what you will do for somebody else, who has a better 
claim upon you, pray sir let me know what you intend 
doing.” 

“ It ’s chiefly on that account that we have come just 
now,” said the single gentleman, “ for you will have an- 
other visitor presently. We feared you would be an*- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


117 


tous unless you knew from ourselves what steps we in- 
tended to take, and therefore came to you before we 
stirred in the matter.” 

“ Gentlemen,” returned Dick, “ I thank you. Any- 
body in the helpless state that you see me in, is naturally 
mxious. Don’t let me interrupt you, sir.” 

“ Then, you see, my good fellow,” said the single 
gentleman, “ that while we have no doubt whatever of 
the truth of this disclosure, which has so providentially 
come to light — ” 

“ — Meaning hers ? ” said Dick, -pointing towards the 
Marchioness. 

“ Meaning hers, of course. While we have no doubt 
of that, or that a proper use of it would procure the 
poor lad’s immediate pardon and liberation, we have a 
great doubt whether it would, by itself, enable us to 
reach Quilp, the chief agent in this villany. I should 
tell you that this doubt has been confirmed into some- 
thing very nearly approaching certainty by the best 
opinions we have been enabled, in this short space of 
time, to take upon the subject. You ’ll agree with us, 
that to give him even the most distant chance of escape, 
if we could help it, would be monstrous. You say with 
us, no doubt, if somebody must escape, let it be any one 
but he.” 

“Yes,” returned Dick, “certainly. That is, if some- 
body must — but upon my word, I’m unwilling that 
anybody should. Since laws were made for every de- 
gree, to curb vice in others as well as in me — and so 
forth you Jsnow — doesn’t it strike you in that light ? ” 

The single gentleman smiled as if the light in which 
Mr. Swiveller had put the question were not the clear- 
est in the world, and proceeded to explain that they 


118 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


contemplated proceeding by stratagem in the first in 
stance ; and that their design was, to endeavor to ex- 
tort a confession from the gentle Sarah. 

“ When she finds how much we know, and how we 
know it,” he said, “ and that she is clearly comprom- 
ised already, we are not without strong hopes that we 
may be enabled through her means to punish the other 
two effectually. If we could do that, she might go scot- 
free for aught I cared.” 

Dick received this project in anything but a gracious 
manner, representing with as much warmth as he was 
then capable of showing, that they would find the old 
buck (meaning Sarah) more difficult to manage than 
Quilp himself — that, for any tampering, terrifying, or 
cajolery, she was a very unpromising and unyielding 
subject — that she was of a kind of brass not easily 
melted or moulded into shape — in short, that they were 
no match for her, and would be signally defeated. But, 
it was in vain to urge them to adopt some other course. 
The single gentleman has been described as explaining 
their joint intentions, but it should have been written 
that they all spoke together ; that if any one of them 
by chance held his peace for a moment, he stood gasp- 
ing and panting for an opportunity to strike in again ; 
in a word, that they had reached that pitch of impatience 
and anxiety where men can neither be persuaded nor 
reasoned with ; and that it would have been as easy to 
rnrn the most impetuous wind that ever blew, as to pre- 
vail on them to reconsider their determination. So, af- 
ter telling Mr. Swiveller how they had not lo*t sight of 
Kit's mother and the children ; how they had never 
once even lost sight of Kit himself, but had been un 
remitting in their endeavors to procure a mitigation of 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


119 


his sentence ; how they had been perfectly distracted 
between the strong proofs of his guilt, and their own 
fading hopes of his innocence ; and how he, Richard 
Swiveller, might keep his mind at rest, for everything 
should be happily adjusted between that time and night ; 
— af sr telling him all this, and adding a great many 
kind and cordial expressions, personal to himself, which 
it is unnecessary to recite, Mr. Garland, the notary, and 
the single gentleman, took their leaves at a very crit- 
ical time, or Richard Swiveller must assuredly have 
been driven into another fever, whereof the results 
might have been fatal. 

Mr. Abel remained behind, very often looking at his 
watch and at the room door, until Mr. Swiveller was 
roused from a short nap, by the setting-down on the 
landing-place outside, as from the shoulders of a porter, 
of some giant load, which seemed to shake the house, 
and make the little physic bottles on the mantel-shelf 
ring again. Directly this sound reached his ears, Mr. 
Abel started up, and hobbled to the door, and opened 
it ; and behold ! there stood a strong man, with a 
mighty hamper, which, being hauled into the room and 
presently unpacked, disgorged such treasures of tea, and 
coffee, and wine, and rusks, and oranges, and grapes, 
and fowls ready trussed for boiling, and calves’-foot jelly 
and arrow-root, and sago, and other delicate restoratives, 
that the small servant who had never thought it possible 
that such things could be, except in shops, stood root- 
ed to the spot in her one shoe, with her mouth and eyes 
watering in unison, and her power of speech quite gone. 
But, not so Mr. Abel ; or the strong man who emptied 
the hamper, big as it was, in a twinkling ; and not so 
the nice old lady, who appeared so suddenly that she 


120 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


might have come out of the hamper too (it was quite 
large enough), and who bustling about on tiptoe and 
without noise — now here, now there, now everywhere 
at once — began to fill out the jelly in teacups, and to 
make chicken broth in small saucepans, and to peal 
oranges for the sick man and to cut them up in little 
pieces, and to ply the small servant with glasses of wine 
and choice bits of everything until more substantial meat 
could be prepared for her refreshment. The whole of 
which appearances were so unexpected and bewilder- 
ing, that Mr. Swiveller when he had taken two oranges 
and a little jelly, and had seen the strong man walk 
off with the empty basket, plainly leaving all that abun- 
dance for his use and benefit, was fain to lie down and 
fall asleep again, from sheer inability to entertain such 
wonders in his mind. 

Meanwhile the single gentleman, the notary, and Mr. 
Garland, repaired to a certain coffee-house, and from 
that place indited and sent a letter to Miss Sally Brass, 
requesting her, in terms mysterious and brief, to favor 
an unknown friend who wished to consult her, with her 
company there, as speedily as possible. The communi- 
cation performed its errand so well, that within ten min- 
utes of the messenger’s return and report of its delivery, 
Miss Brass herself was announced. 

“ Praj ma'am,” said the single gentleman, whom she 
found alone in the room, “ take a chair.” 

Miss Brass sat herself down in a very stiff and frigid 
6tate, and seemed — as indeed she was — not a little 
astonished to find that the lodger and her mysterious 
correspondent were one and the same person. 

“ You did not expect to see me ? ” said the single gen- 
tleman. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


121 


“ I didn’t think much about it,” returned the beauty 
* I supposed it was business of some kind or other. If 
it’s about the apartments, of course you*!! give my 
brother regular notice, you know — or money. That’s 
very easily settled. You’re a responsible party, and in 
such a case lawful money and lawful notice are pretty 
much the same.” 

“ I am obliged to you for your good opinion,” retorted 
the single gentleman, 66 and quite concur in those senti- 
ments. But, that is not the subject on which I wish to 
speak with you.” 

“ Oh ! ” said Sally. “ Then just state the particulars, 
will you ? I suppose it’s professional business ? ” 

u Why it is connected with the law, certainly.” 

“ Very well,” returned Miss Brass. “ My brother 
and I are just the same. I can take any instructions or 
give you any advice.” 

“ As there are other parties interested besides myself,” 
said the single gentleman, rising and opening the door of 
an inner room, “ we had better confer together. Miss 
Brass is here, gentlemen ! ” 

Mr. Garland and the Notary walked in, looking very 
grave : and, drawing up two chairs, one on each side of 
the single gentleman, formed a kind of fence round the 
gentle Sarah, and penned her into a corner. Her 
brother Sampson under such circumstances would cer- 
tainly have evinced some confusion or anxiety, but she 
— all composure — pulled out the tin box and calmly 
took a pinch of snuff. 

“ Miss Brass,” said the Notary, taking the word at this 
crisis, “ we professional people understand each other, 
and, when we choose, can say what we have to say, in 
very few words. You advertised a runaway servant, 
the other day ? * 


122 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ Well,” returned Miss Sally, with a sudden flush 
overspreading her features, “ what of that ? ” 

“ She is found, ma’am,” said the Notary, pulling out 
his pocket-handkerchief with a flourish. “ She is 
found.” 

“ Who found her ? ” demanded Sarah hastily. 

“ We did ma’am — we three. Only last night, or you 
would have heard from us before.” 

“ And now I have heard from you,” said Miss Brass, 
folding her arms as though she were about to deny some- 
thing to the death, a what have you got to say? Some- 
thing you have got into your heads about her, of course 
Prove it, will you — that’s all. Prove it. You have 
found her, you say. I can tell you (if you don’t know 
it) that you have found the most artful, lying, pilfering, 
devilish little minx that was ever born. — Have you got 
her here ? ” she added, looking sharply round. 

“ No, she is not here at present,” returned the Notary. 
u But she is quite safe.” 

“ Ha ! ” cried Sally, twitching a pinch of snuff out of 
her box, as spitefully as if she were in the very act of 
wrenching off the small servant’s nose ; “ she shall be 
safe enough from this time, I warrant you.” 

“ I hope so,” replied the Notary. — “ Did it occur to 
you for the first time, when you found she had run away, 
that there were two keys to your kitchen door?” 

Miss Sally took another pinch, and, putting her head 
on one side, looked at her questioner, with a curious kind 
of spasm about her mouth, but with a cunning aspect of 
immense expression. 

“ Two keys,” repeated the Notary ; “ one of which 
gave her the opportunities of roaming through the house 
at nights when you supposed her fast locked up, and of 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


123 


overhearing confidential consultations — among others, 
that particular conference, to be described to-day before 
a justice, which you will have an opportunity of hearing 
her relate ; that conference which you and Mr. Brass 
held together, on the night before that most unfortunate 
and innocent young man was accused of robbery, by P 
horrible device of which I will only say that it may he 
characterized by the epithets you have applied to this 
wretched little witness, and by a few stronger ones be- 
sides.” 

Sally took another pinch. Although her face was 
wonderfully composed, it was apparent that she was 
wholly taken by surprise, and that what she had expected 
to be taxed with, in connection with her small servant, 
was something very different from this. 

“ Come, come, Miss Brass,” said the Notary, “ you 
have great command of feature, but you feel, I see, that 
by a chance which never entered your imagination, this 
base design is revealed, and two of its plotters must be 
brought to justice. Now, you know the pains and pen- 
alties you are liable to, and so I need not dilate upon 
them, but I have a proposal to make to you. You have 
the honor of being sister to one of the greatest scoun- 
drels unhung ; and, if I may venture to say so to a lady, 
you are in every respect quite worthy of him. But, 
connected with you two is a third party, a villain of the 
name of Quilp, the prime mover of the whole diabolical 
device, who I believe to be worse than either. For his 
sake, Miss Brass, do us the favor to reveal the whole 
history of this affair. Let me remind you that your 
sloing so, at our instance, will place you in a safe and 
comfortable position — your present one is not desirable 
— and cannot injure your brother y for against him and 


124 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


you we have quite sufficient evidence (as you hear) al- 
ready. I will not say to you that we suggest this course 
in mercy (for, to tell you the truth, we do not entertain 
any regard for you), but it is a necessity to which we are 
reduced, and I recommend it to you as a matter of the 
very best policy. Time,” said Mr. Witherden, pulling 
out his watch, “ in a business like this, is exceedingly 
precious. Favor us with your decision as speedily as 
possible, ma’am.” 

With a smile upon her face, and looking at each of 
the three by turns, Miss Brass took two or three more 
pinches of snuff, and having by this time very little left, 
travelled round and round the box with her forefinger 
and thumb, scraping up another. Having disposed of 
this likewise and put the box carefully in her pocket, she 
said, — 

66 I am to accept or reject at once, am I ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Witherden. 

The charming creature was opening her lips to speak 
in reply, when the door was hastily opened too, and the 
head of Sampson Brass was thrust into the room. 

“ Excuse me,” said that gentleman, hastily. “ Wait a 
bit ! ” 

So saying, and quite indifferent to the astonishment his 
presence occasioned, he crept in, shut the door, kissed his 
greasy glove as servilely as if it w r ere the dust, and made 
a most abject bow. 

“ Sarah,” said Brass, “ hold your tongue if you please, 
and let me speak. Gentlemen, if I could express the 
pleasure it gives me to see three such men in a happy 
unity of feeling and concord of sentiment, I think you 
would hardly believe me. But though I am unfortunate 
— nay, gentlemen, criminal, if we are to use harsh ex- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


125 


pressions in a company like this — still, I have my feel- 
ings like other men. 1 have heard of a poet, who re- 
marked that feelings were the common lot of all. If he 
could have been a pig, gentlemen, and have uttered that 
sentiment, he would still have been immortal.” 

“ If you’re not an idiot,” said Miss Brass harshly^ 
‘ hold your peace.” 

“ Sarah, my dear,” returned her brother, " thank ycu. 
But I know what I am about, my love, and will take the 
liberty of expressing myself accordingly. Mr. Wither- 
den, sir, your handkerchief is hanging out of your pocket 
— would you allow me to ” — 

As Mr. Brass advanced to remedy this accident, the 
Notary shrunk from him with an air of disgust. Brass, 
who over and above his usual prepossessing qualities, 
had a scratched face, a green shade over one eye, and a 
hat grievously crushed, stopped short, and looked round 
with a pitiful smile. 

“ He shuns me,” said Sampson, “ even when I would, 
as I may say, heap coals of fire upon his head. Well ! 
Ah ! But I am a falling house, and the rats (if I may 
be allowed the expression in reference to a gentleman I 
respect and love beyond everything) fly from me ! Gen- 
tlemen — regarding your conversation just now, I hap- 
pened to see my sister on her way here, and, wondering 
where she could be going to, and being — may I venture 
to say ? — naturally of a suspicious turn, followed her. 
Since then, I have been listening.” 

“ If you’re not mad,” interposed Miss Sally, “ stop 
there, and say no more.” 

“ Sarah, my dear,” rejoined Brass with undiminished 
politeness, “ I thank you kindly, but will still proceed. 
Mr Witherden, sir, as we have the honor to be members 


126 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


of the same profession — to say nothing of that othei 
gentleman having been my lodger, and having partaken, 
as one may say, of the hospitality of my roof — I think 
you might have given me the refusal of this offer in the 
first instance. I do indeed. Now, my dear sir,” cried 
Brass, seeing that the Notary was about to interrupt him, 
‘ suffer- me to speak, I beg.” 

Mr. Witherden was silent, and Brass went on. 

“ If vou will do me the favor,” he said, holding up the 
green shade, ai*d revealing an eye most horribly discol- 
ored, “ to look at this, you will naturally inquire, in your 
own minds, how did I get it. If you look from that, to 
my face, you will wonder what could have been the 
cause of all these scratches. And if from them to my 
hat, how it came into the state in which you see it. 
Gentlemen,” said Brass, striking the hat fiercely with his 
clenched hand, “ to all these questions I answer — 
Quilp ! ” 

The three gentlemen looked at each other, but said 
nothing. 

66 1 say,” pursued Brass, glancing aside at his sister, as 
though he were talking for her information, and speak- 
ing with a snarling malignity, in violent contrast to his 
usual smoothness, “ that I answer to all these questions, 
— Quilp — Quilp, who deludes me into his infernal den, 
and takes a delight in looking on and chuckling while I 
scorch, and burn, and bruise, and maim myself — Quilp, 
who never once, no never once, in all our communica- 
tions together, has treated me otherwise than as a dog — 
Quilp, whom I have always hated with my whole heart, 
but never so much as lately. He gives me the cold 
shoulder on this very matter as if he had had nothing to 
do with it, instead of being the first to propose it. ] 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


127 


can’t trust him. In one of his howling, raving, blazing 
humors, I believe he’d let it out, if it was murder, and 
never think of himself so long as he could terrify me. 
Now,” said Brass, picking up his hat again, replacing the 
shade over his eye, and actually crouching down, in the 
excess of his servility, “ what does all this lead me to ? 

— what should you say it led me to, gentlemen ? — 
could you guess at all near the mark ? ” 

Nobody spoke. Brass stood smirking for a little while, 
as if he had propounded some choice conundrum ; and 
then said, — 

“ To be short with you, then, it leads me to this. If 
the truth has come out, as it plainly has in a manner that 
there’s no standing up against — and a very sublime and 
grand thing is Truth, gentlemen, in its way, though like 
other sublime and grand things, such as thunder-storms 
and that, we’re not always over and above glad to see it 

— I had better turn upon this man than let this man 
turn upon me. It’s clear to me that I am done for. 
Therefore, if anybody is to split, I had better be the per- 
son and have the advantage of it. Sarah, my dear, 
comparatively speaking you’re safe. I relate these cir- 
cumstances for my own profit.” 

With that, Mr. Brass, in a great hurry, revealed the 
whole story ; bearing as heavily as possible on his 
amiable employer, and making himself out to be rather 
a saint-like and holy character, though subject — he ac- 
knowledged — to human weaknesses. He concluded 
thus, — 

“ Now, gentlemen, I am not a man who does things 
by halves. Being in for a penny, I am ready, as the 
paying is, to be in for a pound. You must do with 
tne what you please, and take me where you please 


128 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


If you wish to have this in writing, we’ll reduce it 
into manuscript immediately. You will be tender 
with me, I am sure. I am quite confident you will 
be tender with me. You are men of honor, and have 
feeling hearts. I yielded from necessity to Quilp, for 
though necessity has no law, she has her lawyers. I 
yield to you from necessity too; from policy besides; 
and because of feelings that have been a pretty long 
time working within me. Punish Quilp, gentlemen. 
Weigh heavily upon him. Grind him down. Tread 
him under foot. He has done as much by me, for 
many and many a day.” 

Having now arrived at the conclusion of his dis- 
course, Sampson checked the current of his wrath, 
kissed his glove again, and smiled as only parasites 
and cowards can. 

“ And this,” said Miss Brass, raising her head, with 
which she had hitherto sat resting on her hands, and 
surveying him from head to foot with a bitter sneer, 
“ this is my brother, is it ! This is my brother, that I 
have w r orked and toiled for, and believed to have had 
something of the man in him!” 

“ Sarah, my dear,” returned Sampson, rubbing his 
hands feebly ; “ you disturb our friends. Besides you 
— you’re disappointed, Sarah, and, not knowing what 
you say, expose yourself.” 

“ Yes, you pitiful dastard,” retorted the lovely damsel, 
I understand you. You feared that I should be be- 
forehand with you. But do you think that / would have 
been enticed to say a word ! I’d have scorned it, if 
they had tried and tempted me for twenty years.” 

“ He, he ! ” simpered Brass, who, in his deep debase- 
ment, really seemed to have changed sexes with his 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


129 


sister, and to have made over to her any spark of man- 
liness he might have possessed. “ You think so, Sarah, 
you think so perhaps ; but you would have acted quite 
different, my good fellow. You will not have forgotten 
that it was a maxim with Foxey — our revered father, 
gentlemen — ‘ Always suspect everybody.’ That’s the 
maxim to go through life with ! If you were not actual- 
ly about to purchase your own safety when I showed 
myself, I suspect you’d have done it by this time. And 
therefore I’ve done it myself, and spared you the trouble 
as well as the shame. The shame, gentlemen,” added 
Brass, allowing himself to be slightly overcome, “if 
there is any, is mine. It’s better that a female should 
be spared it.” 

With deference to the better opinion of Mr. Brass, 
and more particularly to the authority of his great 
ancestor, it may be doubted, with humility, whether the 
elevating principle laid down by the latter gentleman, 
and acted upon by his descendant, is always a prudent 
one, or attended in practice with the desired results. 
This is, beyond question, a bold and presumptuous 
doubt, inasmuch as many distinguished characters, 
called men of the world, long-headed customers, know- 
ing dogs, shrewd fellows, capital hands at business, and 
the like, have made, and do daily make, this axiom their 
polar star and compass. Still, the doubt may be gently 
insinuated. And in illustration it may be observed that 
if Mr. Brass, not being over-suspicious, had, without 
prying and listening, left his sister to manage the con- 
ference on their joint behalf, or, prying and listening, 
had not been in such a mighty hurry to anticipate her 
(which he would not have been, but for his distrust and 
jealousy), he would probably have found himself much 
9 


VOL. III. 


130 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


better off in the end. Thus, it will always happen tha\ 
these men of the world, who go through it in armor, de- 
fend themselves from quite as much good as evil ; to say 
nothing of the inconvenience and absurdity of mounting 
guard with a microscope at all times, and of wearing a 
coat of mail on the most innocent occasions. 

The three gentlemen spoke together apart, for a few 
moments. At the end of their consultation, which was 
very brief, the Notary pointed to the writing materials 
on the table, and informed Mr. Brass that if he wished 
to make any statement in writing, he had the oppor- 
tunity of doing so. At the same time he felt bound to 
tell him that they would require his attendance, present- 
ly, before a justice of the peace, and that in what he did 
or said, he was guided entirely by his own discretion. 

“ Gentlemen,” said Brass, drawing off his gloves, and 
crawling in spirit upon the ground before them, “ I will 
justify the tenderness with which I know I shall be 
treated ; and as, without tenderness, I should, now that 
this discovery has been made, stand in the worst position 
of the three, you may depend upon it I will make a 
clean breast. Mr. Witherden, sir, a kind of faintness is 
upon my spirits — if you would do me the favor to ring 
the bell and order up a glass of something warm and 
spicy, I shall, notwithstanding what has passed have a 
melancholy pleasure in drinking your good health. I 
had hoped,” said Brass, looking round with a mournful 
smile, “ to have seen you three gentlemen, one day or 
another, with your legs under the mahogany in my 
humble parlor in the Marks. But hopes are fleeting. 
Dear me ! ” 

Mr. Brass found himself so exceedingly affected, at 
this point, that he could say or do nothing more until 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


131 


Borne refreshment arrived. Having partaken of it, 
pretty freely for one in his agitated state, he sat down 
to write. 

The lovely Sarah, now with her arms folded, and now 
with her hands clasped behind her, paced the room with 
many strides, while her brother was thus employed, and 
sometimes stopped to pull out her snuff-box and bite the 
lid. She continued to pace up and down until she was 
quite tired, and then fell asleep on a chair near the door. 

It has been since supposed, with some reason, that 
this slumber was a sham or feint, as she contrived to * 
slip away unobserved in the dusk of the afternoon 
Whether this was an intentional and waking depar- 
ture, or a somnambulistic leave-taking and walking in 
her sleep, may remain a subject of contention ; but, on 
one point (and indeed the main one) all parties are 
agreed. In whatever state she walked away, she 
certainly did not walk back again. 

Mention having been made of the dusk of the after- 
noon, it will be inferred that Mr. Brass’s task occupied 
some time in the completion. It was not finished until 
evening ; but, being done at last, that worthy person and 
the three friends adjourned in a hackney-coach to the 
private office of a justice, who, giving Mr. Brass a 
warm reception and detaining him in a secure place 
that he might insure to himself the pleasure of seeing 
him on the morrow, dismissed the others with the cheer- 
ing assurance that a warrant could not fail to be granted 
next day for the apprehension of Mr. Quilp, and that a 
proper application and statement of all the circumstances 
to the secretary of state (who was fortunately in town), 
would no doubt procure Kit’s free pardon and liberation 
without delay. 


132 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


And now, indeed, it seemed that Quilp’s malignant 
career was drawing to a close, and that retribution, 
which often travels slowly — especially when heaviest 
— had tracked his footsteps with a sure and certain 
scent, and was gaining on him fast. Unmindful of her 
stealthy tread, her victim holds his course in fanciec 
triumph. Still at his heels she comes, and once afoot, it 
never turned aside ! 

Their business ended, the three gentlemen hastened 
back to the lodgings of Mr. Swiveller, whom they found 
. progressing so favorably in his recovery as to have been 
able to sit up for half an hour, and to have conversed 
with cheerfulness. Mrs. Garland had gone home some 
time since, but Mr. Abel was still sitting with him. 
After telling him all they had done, the two Mr. Gar- 
lands and the single gentleman, as if by some previous 
understanding, took their leaves for the night, leaving 
the invalid alone with the Notary and the small ser- 
vant. 

“As you are so much better,” said Mr. Witherden, 
sitting down at the bedside, “I may venture to com- 
municate to you a piece of news which has come to 
me professionally.” 

The idea of any professional intelligence from a 
gentleman connected with legal matters, appeared to 
afford Richard anything but a pleasing anticipate n. 
Perhaps he connected it in his own mind with one oi 
two outstanding accounts, in reference to which he lue 
already received divers threatening letters. His counte- 
nance fell as he replied, — 

“ Certainly, sir. I hope it’s not anything of a very 
disagreeable nature, though ? ” 

“ If I thought it so, I should choose some better time 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


133 


for communicating it,” replied the Notary. “ Let me 
tell you, first, that my friends who have been here to- 
day know nothing of it, and that their kindness to you 
has been quite spontaneous and with no hope of return. 
It may do a thoughtless, careless man, good, to know 
that.” 

Dick thanked him, and said he hoped it would. 

“ I have been making some inquiries about you,” said 
Mr. Witherden, “little thinking that I should find you 
under such circumstances as those which have brought 
us together. You are the nephew of Rebecca Swivel- 
ler, spinster, deceased, of Cheselbourne in Dorsetshire.” 

“ Deceased ! ” cried Dick. 

“ Deceased. If you had been another sort of nephew, 
you would have come into possession (so says the will, 
and I see no reason to doubt it) of five-and-twenty thou- 
sand pounds. As it is, you have fallen into an annuity 
of one hundred and fifty pounds a year ; but I think I 
may congratulate you even upon that.” 

“ Sir,” said Dick, sobbing and laughing together, “ you 
may. For, please God, we’ll make a scholar of the poor 
Marchioness yet ! And she shall walk in silk attire, and 
siller have to spare, or may I never rise from this bed 
again ! ” 


134 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LXVII. 

Unconscious of the proceedings faithfully narrated 
in the last chapter, and little dreaming of the mine 
which had been sprung beneath him (for, to the end 
that he should have no warning of the business a-foot, 
the profoundest secrecy was observed in the whole 
transaction), Mr. Quilp remained shut up in his her- 
mitage, undisturbed by any suspicion, and extremely 
well satisfied with the result of his machinations. Be- 
ing engaged in the adjustment of some accounts — an 
occupation to which the silence and solitude of his re- 
treat were very favorable — he had not strayed from 
his den for two whole days. The third day of his de- 
votion to this pursuit found him still hard at work, 
and little disposed to stir abroad. 

It was the day next after Mr. Brass’s confession, and, 
consequently, that which threatened the restriction of 
Mr. Quilp’s liberty, and the abrupt communication to 
him of some very unpleasant and unwelcome facts. 
Having no intuitive perception of the cloud which 
lowered upon his house, the dwarf was in his ordinary 
state of cheerfulness ; and, when he found he was be- 
coming too much engrossed by business with a due re- 
gard to his health and spirits, he varied its monotonous 
routine with a little screeching, or howling, or some other 
innocent relaxation of that nature. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


135 


He was attended, as usual, by Tom Scott, who sal 
crouching over the tire after the manner of a toad, 
and, from time to time, when his master’s back was 
turned, imitated his grimaces with a fearful exactness. 
The figure-head had not yet disappeared, but remained 
in its old place. The face, horribly seared by the fre- 
quent application of the red-hot poker, and further or- 
namented by the insertion, in the tip of the nose, of a 
tenpenny nail, yet smiled blandly in its less lacerated 
parts, and seemed, like a sturdy martyr, to provoke 
its tormentor to the commission of new outrages and 
insults. 

The day, in the highest and brightest quarters of the 
town, was damp, dark, cold, and gloomy. In that low and 
marshy spot, the fog filled every nook and corner with 
a thick dense cloud. Every object was obscured at one 
or two yards’ distance. The warning lights and fires 
upon the river were powerless beneath this pall, and, 
but for a raw and piercing chillness in the air, and 
now and then the cry of some bewildered boatman 
as he rested on his oars and tried to make out where 
he was, the river itself might have been miles away. 

The mist, though sluggish and slow to move, was of 
a keenly searching kind. No muffling up in furs and 
broadcloth kept it out. It seemed to penetrate into 
the very bones of the shrinking wayfarers, and to rack 
them with cold and pains. Everything was wet, and 
clammy to the touch. The warm blaze alone defied 
it, and leaped and sparkled merrily. It was a day to 
be at home, crowding about the fire, telling stories of 
travellers who had lost their way in such vreather on 
heaths and moors ; and to love a warm hearth more 
than ever. 


136 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


The dwarf’s humor, as we know, was to have a fire* 
lide to himself ; and when he was disposed to be con* 
vivial, to enjoy himself alone. By no means insensible 
to the comfort of being within doors, he ordered Tom 
Scott to pile the little stove with coals, and, dismiss- 
ing his work for that day, determined to be jovial. 

To this end, he lighted up fresh candles and heaped 
mors fuel on the fire ; and having dined off a beef- 
steak, which he cooked himself in somewhat of a sav- 
age and cannibal-like manner, brewed a great bowl of 
hot punch, lighted his pipe, and sat down to spend the 
evening. 

At this moment, a low knocking at the cabin-door 
arrested his attention. When it had been twice or 
thrice repeated, he softly opened the little window, and 
thrusting his head out, demanded who was there. 

“ Only me Quilp,” replied a woman’s voice. 

“ Only you ! ” cried the dwarf, stretching his neck to 
obtain a better view of his visitor. “ And what brings 
you here, you jade ? How dare you approach the 
ogre’s castle, eh ? ” 

(( I have come with some news,” rejoined his spouse 
“ Don’t be angry with me.” 

“ Is it good news, pleasant news, news to make a man 
skip and snap his fingers ? ” said the dwarf. “ Is the 
dear old lady dead ? ” 

“ I don’t know what news it is, or whether it’s good 
or bad,” rejoined his wife. 

“ Then she’s alive,” said Quilp, “ and there’s nothing 
the matter with her. Go home again, you bird of evil 
note, go home ! ” 

“ I have brought a letter ” — cried the meek little 
woman. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


137 


“ Toss it in at the window here, and go your ways/ 
6aid Quilp, interrupting her, “ or I’ll come out and 
scratch you.” 

“ No, but please, Quilp — do hear me speak,” urged 
his submissive wife, in tears. “ Please do ! ” 

“ Speak then,” growled the dwarf, with a malicious 
grin. “ Be quick and short about it. Speak, will 
you ? ” 

“ It was left at our house this afternoon,” said Mrs. 
Quilp, trembling, “ by a boy who said he didn’t know 
from whom it came, but that it was given to him to 
leave, and that he was told to say it must be brought 
on to you directly, for it was of the very greatest con- 
sequence. — But please,” she added, as her husband 
stretched out his hand for it, “ please let me in. You 
don’t know how wet and cold I am, or how many times 
I have lost my way in coming here through this thick 
fog. Let me dry myself at the fire for five minutes. 
I’ll go away directly you tell me to, Quilp. Upon my 
word I will.” 

Her amiable husband hesitated for a few moments; 
but, bethinking himself that the letter might require 
some answer, of which she could be the bearer, closed 
the window, opened the door, and bade her enter. Mrs. 
Quilp obeyed right willingly, and, kneeling down before 
the fire to warm her hands, delivered into his, a little 
packet. 

“ I’m glad you’re wet,” said Quilp, snatching it, and 
squinting at her. “ I’m glad you’re cold. I’m glad 
you’ve lost your way. I’m glad your eyes are red with 
crying. It does my heart good to see your little nose 
so pinched and frosty.” 

“ Oh Quilp 1 ” sobbed his wife. fi How cruel it is of 
you ! ” 


138 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


“ Did she think I was dead ! ” said Quilp, wrinkling 
his face into a most extraordinary series of grimaces. 
“ Did she think she was going to have all the money, 
and to marry somebody she liked ? Ha, ha, ha I Did 
she ? ” 

These taunts elicited no reply from the poor little 
woman, who remained on her knees, warming her hands 
and sobbing, to Mr. Quilp’s great delight. But, just as 
he was contemplating her, and chuckling excessively, 
he happened to observe that Tom Scott was delighted 
too ; wherefore, that he might have no presumptuous 
partner in his glee, the dwarf instantly collared him, 
dragged him to the door, and after a short scuffle, kicked 
him into the yard. In return for this mark of atten- 
tion, Tom immediately walked upon his hands to the 
window, and — if the expression be allowable — looked 
in with his shoes : besides rattling his feet upon the 
glass like a Banshee upside down. As a matter of 
course, Mr. Quilp lost no time in resorting to the in- 
fallible poker, with which, after some dodging and lying 
in ambush, he paid his young friend one or two such 
unequivocal compliments that he vanished precipitately, 
and left him in quiet possession of the field. 

“So! That little job being disposed of,” said tho 
dwarf, coolly, “ I’ll read my letter. Humph ! ” he mut- 
tered, looking at the direction. “ I ought to know this 
writing. Beautiful Sally ! ” 

Opening it, he read, in a fair, round, legal hand, as 
follows : — 

“ Sammy has been practised upon, and has broken 
confidence. It has all come out. You had better not 
oe in the way, for strangers are going to call upon you. 
They have been very quiet as yet, because they mean to 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


139 


surprise you. Don’t lose time. I didn’t. I am not to 
be found anywhere. If I was you, I wouldn’t be, either 
S. B., late of B. M.” 

To describe the changes that passed over Quilp’s face, 
as he read this letter half a dozen times, would require 
some new language : such, for power of expression, a3 
was never written, read, or spoken. For a long time he 
did not utter one word : but, after a considerable inter- 
val, during which Mrs. Quilp was almost paralyzed with 
the alarm his looks engendered, he contrived to gasp 
out, — 

— “If I had him here. If I only had him 
here ” 

“ Oh Quilp ! ” said his wife, “ what’s the matter ? 
Who are you angry with ? ” 

“I should drown him,” ‘said the dwarf, not heeding 
her. “Too easy a death, too short, too quick — but the 
river runs close at hand. Oh ! If I had him here ! Just 
to take him to the brink, coaxingly and pleasantly, — 
holding him by the button-hole — joking with him, — 
and, with a sudden push, to send him splashing down ! 
Drowning men come to the surface three times they say. 
Ah ! To see him those three times, and mock him as 
his face came bobbing up, — oh, what a rich treat that 
would be ! ” 

“ Quilp ! ” stammered his wife, venturing at the same 
time to touch him on the shoulder : “ what has gone 
wrong ? ” 

She was so terrified by the relish with which he pic- 
tured this pleasure to himself, that she could scarcely 
make herself intelligible. 

“ Such a bloodless cur ! ” said Quilp, rubbing his 
hands very slowly, and pressing them tight together 


140 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


w I thought his cowardice and servility were the best 
guarantee for his keeping silence. Oh Brass, Brass — 
my dear, good, affectionate, faithful, complimentary, 
charming friend — if I only had you here ! ” 

His wife, who had retreated lest she should seem to 
listen to these mutterings, ventured to approach him 
again, and was about to speak, when he hurried to the 
door and called Tom Scott, who, remembering his late 
gentle admonition, deemed it prudent to appear imme- 
diately. 

“ There ! ” said the dwarf, pulling him in. “ Take her 
home. Don’t come here to-morrow, for this place will 
be shut up. Come back no more till you hear from me 
or see me. Do you mind ? ” 

Tom nodded sulkily, and beckoned Mrs. Quilp to lead 
the way. 

“ As for you,” said the dwarf, addressing himself to 
her, “ ask no questions about me, make no search for me, 
say nothing concerning me. I shall not be dead, mis- 
tress, and that’ll comfort you. He’ll take care of you.” 

a But Quilp ? What is the matter ? Where are you 
going ? Do say something more.” 

“ I’ll say that,” said the dwarf, seizing her by the arm, 
u and do that too, which undone and unsaid would be 
best for you, unless you go directly.” 

“ Has anything happened ? ” cried his wife. “ Oh ! 
Do tell me that.” 

“ Yes,” snarled the dwarf. “ No. What matter 
which P I have told you what to do. Woe betide you 
if you fail to do it, or disobey me by a hair’s breadth 
Will you go!'” 

“ I am going, I’ll go directly ; but,” faltered his wife, 
f ‘ answer me one question first. Has this letter any con- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


141 


nection with dear little Nell ? I must ask you that — 1 
must indeed, Quilp. You cannot think what days and 
nights of sorrow I have had through having once de- 
ceived that child. I don’t know what harm I may have 
brought about, but, great or little, I did it for you, Quilp, 
My conscience misgave me when I did it. Do answer 
me this question, if you please.” 

The exasperated dwarf returned no answer, but 
turned round and caught up his usual weapon with such 
vehemence, that Tom Scott dragged his charge away, by 
main force, and as swiftly as he could. It was well he 
did so, for Quilp, who was nearly mad with rage, pur- 
sued them to the neighboring lane, and might have pro- 
longed the chase but for the dense mist which obscured 
them from his view, and appeared to thicken every mo- 
ment. 

“ It will be a good night for travelling anonymously,” 
he said, as he returned slowly : being pretty well 
breathed with his run. “ Stay. We may look better 
here. This is too hospitable and free.” 

By a great exertion of strength he closed the two old 
gates, which were deeply sunken in the mud, and barred 
them with a heavy beam. That done, he shook his mat- 
ted hair from about his eyes, and tried them. — Strong 
and fast. 

“ The fence between this wharf and the next is easily 
climbed,” said the dwarf, when he had taken these pre* 
cautions. “ There’s a back lane, too, from there. That 
shall be my way out. A man need know his road well, 
to find it in this lovely place to-night. I need fear no 
inwelcome visitors while this lasts, I think.” 

Almost reduced to the necessity of groping his way 
with his hands (it had grown so dark and the fog had so 


142 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


much increased), he returned to his lair and, after 
musing for some time over the fire, busied himself in 
preparations for a speedy departure. 

While he was collecting a few necessaries and cram- 
ming them into his pockets, he never once ceased com- 
muning with himself in a low voice, or unclenching his 
teeth : which he had ground together on finishing Miss 
Brass’s note. 

“ Oh Sampson ! ” he muttered, “ good, worthy creature 
— if I could but hug you ! If I could only fold you in 
my arms, and squeeze your ribs, as I could squeeze 
them if I once had you tight — what a meeting there 
would be between us ! If we ever do cross each other 
again, Sampson, we’ll have a greeting not easily to be 
forgotten, trust me. This time, Sampson, this moment 
when all had gone on so well, was so nicely chosen ! It 
was so thoughtful of you, so penitent, so good. Oh, if 
we were face to face in this room again, my white- 
livered man of law, how well contented one of us would 
be!” 

There he stopped ; and raising the bowl of punch to 
his lips, drank a long deep draught, as if it were fair 
water and cooling to his parched mouth. Setting it 
down abruptly, and resuming his preparations, he went 
on with his soliloquy. 

“ There’s Sally,” he said, with flashing eyes ; “ the 
woman has spirit, determination, purpose — was she 
asleep, or petrified ? She could have stabbed him — 
poisoned him safely. She might have seen this, coming 
pn. Why does she give me notice when it’s too late ? 
When he sat there, — yonder there, over there, — with 
his white face, and red head, and sickly smile, why didn’t 
t know what was passing in his heart ? It should have 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


143 


Btopped beating, that night, if I had been in his secret, oi 
there are no drugs to lull a man to sleep, and no fire to 
burn him ! ” 

Another draught from the bowl ; and, cowering over 
the fire with a ferocious aspect, he muttered to himself 
again. 

“ And this, like every other trouble and anxiety I 
have had of late times, springs from that old dotard and 
his darling child — two wretched feeble wanderers ! Til 
be their evil genius yet. And you, sweet Kit, honest 
Kit, virtuous, innocent Kit, look to yourself. Where I 
hate, I bite. I hate you, my darling fellow, with good 
cause, and proud as you are to-night, I’ll have my turn. 
— What’s that ! ” 

A knocking at the gate he had closed. A loud and 
violent knocking. Then, a pause ; as if those who 
knocked, had stopped to listen. Then, the noise again, 
more clamorous and importunate than before. 

“ So soon ! ” said the dwarf. “ And so eager ! I am 
afraid I shall disappoint you. It’s well I am quite pre- 
pared. Sally, I thank you ! ” 

As he spoke, he extinguished the candle. In his im- 
petuous attempts to subdue the brightness of the fire, he 
overset the stove, which came tumbling forward, and fell 
with a crash upon the burning embers it had shot forth 
in its descent, leaving the room in pitchy darkness. The 
noise at the gate still continuing, he felt his way to the 
door, and stepped into the open air. 

At that moment the knocking ceased. It was about 
eight o’clock ; but the dead of the darkest night would 
have been as noon-day, in comparison with the thick cloud 
which then rested upon the earth, and shrouded every- 
thing from view. He darted forward for a few paces, as 


144 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


if into the mouth of some dim, yawning cavern ; then, 
thinking he had gone wrong, changed the direction of his 
steps ; then, stood still, not knowing where to turn. 

“ If they would knock again,” said Quilp, trying to 
peer into the gloom by which he was surrounded, “ the 
sound might guide me ! Come ! Batter the gate once 
more ! ” 

He stood listening intently, but the noise was not re- 
newed. Nothing was to be heard in that deserted place 
but, at intervals, the distant barkings of dogs. The sound 
was far away — now in one quarter, now answered in 
another — nor was it any guide, for it often came from 
shipboard, as he knew. 

“ If I could find a wall or fence,” said the dwarf, 
stretching out his arms, and walking slowly on, “ I should 
know which way to turn. A good, black, devil's night 
this, to have my dear friend here ! If I had but that 
wish, it might, for anything I cared, never be day 
again.” 

As the word passed his lips, he staggered and fell — 
and next moment was fighting with the cold dark water ! 

For all its bubbling up and rushing in his ears, he 
could hear the knocking at the gate again — could hear 
a shout that followed it — could recognize the voice. 
For all his struggling and plashing, he could understand 
that they had lost their way, and had wandered back to 
the point from which they started ; that they were all but 
looking on, while he was drowned ; that they were close 
At hand, but could not make an effort to save him ; that 
he himself had shut and barred them out. He answered 
the shout — w T ith a yell, which seemed to make the hun- 
dred fires that danced before his eyes, tremble and flicker 
as if a gust of wind had stirred them. It was of no avail. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


145 


The strong tide filled his throat, and bore him on, upon 
its rapid current. 

Another mortal struggle, and he was up again, beating 
the water with his hands, and looking out, with wild and 
glaring eyes that showed him some black object he was 
drifting close upon. The hull of a ship ! He could 
touch its smdoth and slippery surface with his hand. 
One loud cry now — but the resistless water bore him 
down before he could give it utterance, and, driving him 
under, it carried away a corpse. 

It toyed and sported with its ghastly freight, now 
bruising it against the slimy piles, now hiding it in mud 
or long rank grass, now dragging it heavily over rough 
stones and gravel, now feigning to yield it to its own ele- 
ment, and in the same action luring it away, until, tired 
of the ugly plaything, it flung it on a swamp — a dismal 
place where pirates had swung in chains, through many 
a wintry night — and left it there to bleach. 

And there it lay, alone. The sky was red with flame, 
and the water that bore it there had been tinged with the 
sullen light as it flowed along. The place, the deserted 
carcass had left so recently, a living man, was now a 
blazing ruin. There was something of the glare upon 
its face. The hair, stirred by the damp breeze, played 
in a kind of mockery of death — such a mockery as the 
dead man himself would have delighted in when alive — • 
about its head, and its dress fluttered idly in the nigh 
wind. 


vol. m. 


10 


146 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER L XVIII. • 

Lighted rooms, bright fires, cheerful faces, the music 
of glad voices, words of love and welcome, warm hearts, 
and tears of happiness — what a change is this ! But it 
is to such delights that Kit is hastening. They are 
awaiting him, he knows. He fears he will die of joy, 
before he gets among them. 

They have prepared him for this, all day. He is not 
to be carried off to-morrow with the rest, they tell him 
first. By degrees they let him know that doubts have 
arisen, that inquiries are to be made, and perhaps he may 
be pardoned after all. At last, the evening being come, 
they bring him to a room where some gentlemen are 
assembled. Foremost among them is his good old mas- 
ter, who comes and takes him by the hand. He hears 
that his innocence is established, and that he is pardoned. 
He cannot see the speaker, but he turns towards the 
voice, and in trying to answer, falls down insensible. 

They recover him again, and tell him he must be com- 
posed, and bear this like a man. Somebody says he 
must think of his poor mother. It is because he does 
think of her so much, that the happy news has over- 
powered him. They crowd about him, and tell him that 
the truth has gone abroad, and that all the town and 
country ring with sympathy for his misfortunes. He has 
no ears for this. His thoughts, as yet, have no wider 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


147 


range than home. Does she know it ? what did she say ? 
who told her ? He can speak of nothing else. 

They make him drink a little wine, and talk kindly to 
him for a while, until he is more collected, and can listen, 
and thank them. He is free to go. Mr. Garland thinks, 
if he feels better, it is time they went away. The gen- 
tlemen cluster round him, and shake hands with him. 
lie feels very grateful to them for the interest they have 
in him, and for the kind promises they make ; but the 
power of speech is gone again, and he has much ado tc 
keep his feet, even though leaning on his master’s arm. 

As they come through the dismal passages, some offi- 
cers of the jail who are in waiting there, congratulate 
him, in their rough way, on his release. The newsmon- 
ger is of the number, but his manner is not quite hearty 
— there is something of surliness in his compliments. 
He looks upon Kit as an intruder, as one who has ob- 
tained admission to that place on false pretences, who has 
enjoyed a privilege without being duly qualified. He 
may be a very good sort of young man, he thinks, but 
he has no business there, and the sooner he is gone the 
better. 

The last door shuts behind them. They have passed 
the outer wall, and stand in the open air — in the street 
he has so often pictured to himself when hemmed in by 
the gloomy stones, and which has been in all his dreams. 
It seems wider and more busy fhan it used to be. The 
night is bad, and yet how cheerful and gay in his eyes . 
One of the gentlemen, in taking leave of him, pressed 
some money into his hand. He has not counted it ; but 
when they have gone a few paces beyond the box for 
poor prisoners, he hastily returns and drops it in. 

Mr. Garland has a coach waiting in a neighboring 


148 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


street, and, taking Kit inside with him, bids the man 
drive home. At first, they can only travel at a foot 
pace, and then with torches going on before, because of 
the heavy fog. But, as they get farther from the river, 
and leave the closer portions of the town behind, they 
are able to dispense with this precaution and to proceed 
at a brisker rate. On the road, hard galloping would 
be too slow for Kit ; but, when they are drawing near 
their journey’s end, he begs they may go more slowly, 
and, when the house appears in sight, that they may 
stop — only for a minute or two, to give him time to 
breathe. 

But there is no stopping then, for the old gentleman 
speaks stoutly to him, the horses mend their pace, and 
they are already at the garden-gate. Next minute, they 
are at the door. There is a noise of tongues, and tread 
of feet, inside. It opens. Kit rushes in, and finds his 
mother clinging round his neck. 

And there, too, is the ever faithful Barbara’s mother, 
still holding the baby as if she had never put it down since 
that sad day when they little hoped to have such joy as 
this — there she is, Heaven bless her, crying her eyes out, 
and sobbing as never woman sobbed before ; and there is 
little Barbara — poor little Barbara, so much thinner and 
so much paler, and yet so very pretty — trembling like a 
leaf and supporting herself against the wall ; and there is 
Mrs. Garland, neater and nicer than ever, fainting away 
stone dead with nobody to help her ; and there is Mr. Abel, 
violently blowing his nose, and wanting to embrace every- 
body ; and there is the single gentleman hovering round 
them all, and constant to nothing for an instant ; and 
there is that good, dear, thoughtful little Jacob, sitting all 
alone by himself on the bottom stair, with his hands on 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


149 


his knees like an old man, roaring fearfully without giv- 
ing any trouble to anybody ; and each and all of them 
are for the time clean out of their wits, and do jointly 
and severally commit all manner of follies. 

And even when the rest have in some measure come 
to themselves again, and can find words and smiles, 
Barbara — that soft-hearted, gentle, foolish little Bar- 
bara — is suddenly missed, and found to be in a swoon 
by herself in the back parlor, from which swoon she 
falls into hysterics, and from which hysterics into a 
swoon again, and is, indeed, so bad, that despite a mortal 
quantity of vinegar and cold water she is hardly a bit 
better at last than she was at first. Then, Kit’s mother 
comes in and says, will he come and speak to her ; and 
Kit says “ Yes,” and goes ; and he says in a kind 
voice “ Barbara I ” and Barbara’s mother tells her that 
“ it’s only Kit ; ” and Barbara says (with her eyes closed 
all the time) “Oh ! but is it him indeed ? ” and Barbara’s 
mother says “ To be sure it is, my dear ; there’s nothing 
the matter now.” And in further assurance that he’s 
safe and sound, Kit speaks to her again ; and then Bar- 
bara goes off into another fit of laughter, and then into 
another fit of crying ; and then Barbara’s mother and 
Kit’s mother nod to each other and pretend to scold her 
• — but only to bring her to herself the faster, bless you ! 
— and being experienced matrons, and acute at perceiv- 
ing the first dawning symptoms of recovery, they com- 
fort Kit with the assurance that “ she’ll do now,” and 
so dismiss him to the place from whence he came. 

Well ! In that place (which is the next room) there 
are decanters of wine, and all that sort of thing, set out 
as grand as if Kit and his friends were first-rate com- 
pany ; and there is little Jacob, walking, as the popular 


150 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


phrase is, into a home-made plum-cake, at a most sjr- 
prising pace, and keeping his eye on the figs and orange? 
which are to follow, and making the best use of his time 
you may believe. Kit no sooner comes in, than that 
single gentleman (never was such a busy gentleman) 
charges all the glasses — bumpers — and drinks hia 
health, and tells him he shall never want a friend while 
lie lives ; and so does Mr. Garland, and so does Mrs. 
Gailand, and so does Mr. Abel. But, even this honor 
and distinction is not all, for the single gentleman forth- 
with pulls out of his pocket, a massive silver watch — 
going hard, and right to half a second — and upon the 
back of this watch is engraved Kit’s name, with flour- 
ishes all over ; and in short it is Kit’s watch, bought 
expressly for him, and presented to him on the spot. 
You may rest assured that Mr. and Mrs. Garland can’t 
help hinting about their present in store, and that Mr. 
Abel tells outright that he has his ; and that Kit is the 
happiest of the happy. 

There is one friend he has not seen yet, and as he 
cannot be conveniently introduced into the family circle, 
by reason of his being an iron-shod quadruped, Kit 
takes the first opportunity of slipping away and hurry- 
ing to the stable. The moment he lays his hand upon 
the latch, the pony neighs the loudest pony’s greeting ; 
before he has crossed the threshold, the pony is caper- 
ing about his loose box (for he brooks not the indignity 
of a halter), mad to give him welcome ; and when Kit 
goa? up to caress and pat him, the pony rubs his nose 
against his coat, and fondles him more lovingly than 
ever pony fondled man. It is the crowning circum- 
stance of his earnest, heartfelt reception ; and Kit fairly 
puts his arm round Whisker’s neck and hugs him. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


151 


But how comes Barbara to trip in there ? and how 
smart she is again ! she has been at her glass since 
she recovered. How comes Barbara in the stable, of 
all places in the world ? Why, since Kit has been away, 
the pony would take his food from nobody but her 
and Barbara, you see, not dreaming Christopher was 
there, and just looking in, to see that everything was 
right, has come upon him unawares. Blushing little 
Barbara ! 

It may be that Kit has caressed the pony enough ; 
it may be that there are even better things to caress 
than ponies. He leaves him for Barbara at any rate, 
and hopes she is better. Yes. Barbara is a great deal 
better. She is afraid — and here Barbara looks down 
and blushes more — that he must have thought her 
very foolish. “ Not at all,” says Kit. Barbara is glad 
of that, and coughs — Hem! — just the slightest cough 
possible — not more than that. 

What a discreet pony, when he chooses ! He is as 
quiet now, as if he were of marble. He has a very 
knowing look, but that he always has. “ We have hardly 
had time to shake hands, Barbara,” says Kit. Barbara 
gives him hers. Why, she is trembling now ! Foolish, 
fluttering Barbara ! 

Arm’s length ? The length of an arm is not much. 
Barbara’s was not a long arm, by any means, and be« 
sides, she didn’t hold it out straight, but bent a little. 
Kit was so near her when they shook hands, that he 
could see a small tiny tear, yet trembling on an eyelash. 
It was natural that he should look at it, unknown to 
Barbara. It was natural that Barbara should raise her 
eyes unconsciously, and find him out. Was it natural 
that at that instant, without any previous impulse or 


152 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


design. Kit should kiss Barbara? He did it, whether oi 
no. Barbara said 44 for shame,” but let him do it too — 
twice. He might have done it thrice, but the pony 
kicked up his heels and shook his head, as if he were 
suddenly taken with convulsions of delight, and Barbara 
being frightened, ran away — not straight to where her 
mother and Kit’s mother were, though, lest they should 
see how red her cheeks were, and should ask her why. 
Sly little Barbara ! 

When the first transports of the whole party had sub- 
sided, and Kit and his mother, and Barbara and her 
mother, with little Jacob and the baby to boot, had had 
their suppers together — which there was no hurrying 
over, for they were going to stop there all night — Mr. 
Garland called Kit to him, and taking him into a room 
where they could be alone, told him that he had some- 
thing yet to say, which would surprise him greatly. Kit 
looked so anxious and turned so pale on hearing this, 
that the old gentleman hastened to add, he would be 
agreeably surprised ; and asked him if he would be 
ready next morning for a journey. 

44 For a journey, sir ! ” cried Kit. 

44 In company with me and my friend in the next 
room. Can you guess its purpose ? ” 

Kit turned paler yet, and shook his head. 

44 Oh yes. I think you do already,” said his master. 
“ Try.” 

Kit murmured something rather rambling and un 
intelligible, but he plainly pronounced the words 44 Miss 
Nell,” three or four times — shaking his head while 
he did so, as if he would add that there was no hope 
of that. 

But Mr. Garland, instead of saying 44 Try again,” as 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


153 


Kit had made sure he would, told him, very seriously, 
that he had guessed right. 

“ The place of their retreat is indeed discovered,” he 
said, “at last. And that is our journey’s end.” 

Kit faltered out such questions as, where was it, and 
how had it been found, and how long since, and was she 
well, and happy ? 

“ Happy she is, beyond all doubt,” said Mr. Garland. 
u And well, I — I trust she will be soon. She has been 
weak and ailing, as I learn, but she was better when I 
heard this morning, and they were full of hope. Sit you 
down, and you shall hear the rest.” 

Scarcely venturing to draw his breath, Kit did as he 
was told. Mr. Garland then related to him, how he had 
a brother (of whom he would remember to have heard 
him speak, and whose picture, taken when he was a young 
man, hung in the best room), and how this brother lived 
a long way off, in a country-place, with an old clergy- 
man who had been his early friend. How, although they 
loved each other as brothers should, they had not met 
for many years, but had communicated by letter from 
time to time, always looking forward to some period 
when they would take each other by the hand once 
more, and still letting the present time steal on, as it 
was the habit of men to do, and suffering the future to 
melt into the past. How this brother, whose temper 
was very mild and quiet and retiring — such as Mr. 
Abel’s — was greatly beloved by the simple people 
among whom he dwelt, who quite revered the bachelor 
(for so they called him), and had every one experi- 
enced his charity and benevolence. How, even those 
slight circumstances had come to his knowledge, very 
slowly and in course of years, for the bachelor was ono 


154 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


of those whose goodness shuns the light, and who 
have more pleasure in discovering and extolling the 
good deeds of others, than in trumpeting their own, be 
they never so commendable. How, for that reason, he 
seldom told them of his village friends ; but how, for all 
that, his mind had become so full of two among them 
■— a child and an old man, to whom he had been very 
kind — that, in a letter received a few days before, he 
had dwelt upon them from first to last, and had told such 
a tale of their wandering, and mutual love, that few 
could read it without being moved to tears. How he, 
the recipient of that letter, was directly led to the belief 
that these must be the very wanderers for whom so 
much search had been made, and whom Heaven had 
directed to his brother’s care. How he had written 
for such further information as would put the fact 
beyond all doubt ; how it had that morning arrived ; 
had confirmed his first impression into a certainty ; 
and was the immediate cause of that journey being 
planned, which they were to take to-morrow. 

“ In the mean time,” said the old gentleman rising, 
and laying his hand on Kit’s shoulder, “ you have great 
need of rest; for such a day as this, would wear out 
the strongest man. Good-night, and Heaven send our 
journey may have a prosperous ending ! ” 


vm OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


155 


CHAPTER LXIX. 

Kit was no sluggard next morning, but, springing 
from his bed some time before day, began to prepare 
for his welcome expedition. The hurry of spirits con- 
sequent upon the events of yesterday, and the unex- 
pected intelligence he had heard at night, had troubled 
his sleep through the long dark hours, and summoned 
such uneasy dreams about his pillow that it was rest 
to rise. 

But had it been the beginning of some great labor 
with the same end in view — had it been the commence- 
ment of a long journey, to be performed on foct in that 
inclement season of the year, to be pursued under every 
privation and difficulty, and to be achieved only with 
great distress, fatigue, and suffering — had it been the 
dawn of some painful enterprise, certain to task his ut- 
most powers of resolution and endurance, and to need 
his utmost fortitude, but only likely to end, if happily 
achieved, in good fortune and delight to Nell — Kit’s 
cheerful zeal would have been as highly roused : Kit's 
ardor and impatience would have been, at least, the same. 

Nor was he alone excited and eager. Before he had 
been up a quarter of an hour the whole house were 
astir and busy. Everybody hurried to do something 
f owards facilitating the preparations. The single gentle- 
man, it is true, could do nothing himself, but he over- 


156 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


looked everybody else and was more locomotive than 
anybody. The work of packing and making ready 
went briskly on, and by daybreak every preparation 
for the journey was completed. Then, Kit began to 
wish they had not been quite so nimble ; for the 
travelling-carriage which had been hired for the oc- 
casion was not to arrive until nine o’clock, and there 
was nothing but breakfast to fill up the intervening 
blank of one hour and a half. 

Yes there was, though. There was Barbara. Bar- 
bara was busy to be sure, but so much the better — Kit 
could help her, and that would pass away the time 
better than any means that could be devised. Bar- 
bara had no objection to this arrangement, and Kit, 
tracking out the idea which had come upon him so sud- 
denly overnight, began to think that surely Barbara was 
fond of him, and surely he was fond of Barbara. 

Now, Barbara, if the truth must be told — as it must 
and ought to be — Barbara seemed, of all the little 
household, to take least pleasure in the bustle of the 
occasion ; and when Kit, in the openness of his heart, 
told her how glad and overjoyed it made him, Barbara 
became more downcast still, and seemed to have even 
less pleasure in it than before ! 

“ You have not been home so long, Christopher,” said 
Barbara — and it is impossible to tell how carelessly she 
said it — “ You have not been home so long, that you 
need be glad to go away again, I should think.” 

“ But for such a purpose,” returned Kit. “ To bring 
back Miss Nell ! To see her again ! Only think of 
that ! I am so pleased too, to think that you will see 
her, Barbara, at last.” 

Barbara did not absolutely say that she felt no great 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


157 


gratification on this point, but she expressed the senti- 
ment so plainly by one little toss of her head, that Kit 
was quite disconcerted, and wondered, in his simplicity, 
why she was so cool about it. 

“ You’ll say she has the sweetest and beautifullest face 
you ever saw, I know,” said Kit, rubbing his hands, 
“ I’m sure you’ll say that ! ” 

Barbara tossed her head again. 

“ What’s the matter, Barbara ? ” said Kit. 

“ Nothing,” cried Barbara. And Barbara pouted — 
not sulkily, or in an ugly manner, but just enough to 
make her look more cherry-lipped than ever. 

There is no school in which a pupil gets on so fast, as 
that in which Kit became a scholar when he gave Bar- 
bara the kiss. He saw what Barbara meant now — he 
had his lesson by heart all at once — she was the book 
— there it was before him, as plain as print. 

“ Barbara,” said Kit, “ you’re not cross with me ? ” 

Oh dear no ! Why should Barbara be cross ? And 
what right had she to be cross ? And what did it mat- 
ter whether she was cross or no ? Who minded her ! 

“ Why, I do,” said Kit. “ Of course I do.” 

Barbara didn’t see why it was of course, at all. 

Kit was sure she must. Would she think again ? 

Certainly, Barbara would think again. No, she didn’t 
see why it was of course. She didn’t understand what 
Christopher meant. And besides she was sure they 
wanted her up-stairs by this time, and she must go, 
indeed 

“No, but Barbara,” said Kit, detaining her gently, 
‘ let us part friends. I was always thinking of you, in 
my troubles. I should have been a great deal more 
miserable than I was, if it hadn’t been for you.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


158 


Goodness gracious, how pretty Barbara was when she 
colored — and when she trembled, like a little shrinking 
bird ! 

“ I am telling you the truth, Barbara, upon my word, 
but not half so strong as I could wish,” said Kit. “ When 
1 want you to be pleased to see Miss Nell, it’s only be- 
cause I should like you to be pleased, with what pleases 
me — that’s all. As to her, Barbara, I think I could 
almost die to do her service, but you would think so too, 
if you knew her as I do. I am sure you would.” 

Barbara was touched, and sorry to have appeared in- 
different. 

“ I have been used, you see,” said Kit, “ to talk and 
think of her, almost as if she was an angel. When I 
look forward to meeting her again, I think of her smil- 
ing as she used to do, and being glad to see me, and 
putting out her hand and saying, ‘ It’s my own old Kit,’ 
or some such words as those — like what she used to 
say. I think of seeing her happy, and with friends 
about her, and brought up as she deserves, and as she 
ought to be. When I think of myself, it’s as her old 
servant, and one that loved her dearly, as his kind, good, 
gentle mistress ; and who would have gone — yes, and 
still would go — through any harm to serve her. Once, 
I couldn’t help being afraid that if she came back with 
friends about her she might forget, or be ashamed of hav- 
ing known, a humble lad like me, and so might speak 
coldly, which would have cut me, Barbara, deeper than 
I can tell. But when I came to think again, I felt sure 
that I was doing her wrong in this ; and so I went on, as 
I did at first, hoping to see her once more, just as she 
used to be. Hoping this, and remembering what she 
was, has made me feel as if I would always try to please 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


159 


her, and always be what I should like 1 to seem to her 
if I was still her servant. If I’m the better for that — 
and I don’t think Fm the worse — I am grateful to 
her for it, and love and honor her the more. That’s 
the plain, honest truth, dear Barbara, upon my word 
it is!” 

Little Barbara was not of a wayward or eapiiciou# 
nature, and, being full of remorse, melted into tears. 
To what more conversation this might have led, we need 
not stop to inquire ; for the wheels of the carriage were 
heard at that moment, and, being followed by a smart 
ring at the garden gate, caused the bustle in the house, 
which had lain dormant for a short time, to burst again 
into tenfold life and vigor. 

Simultaneously with the travelling equipage, arrive/i 
Mr. Cliuckster in a hackney cab, with certain papers and 
supplies of money for the single gentleman, into whose 
hands he delivered them. This duty discharged, he 
subsided into the bosom of the family ; and, entertaining 
himself with a strolling or peripatetic breakfast, watched 
with a genteel indifference, the process of loading the 
carriage. 

“ Snobby’s in this I see, sir ? ” he said to Mr. Abel 
Garland. “ I thought he wasn’t in the last trip because 
it was expected that his presence wouldn’t be acceptable 
to the ancient buffalo.” 

“ To whom, sir,” demanded Mr. Abel. 

^To the old gentleman,” returned Mr. Chuckster, 
slightly abashed. 

“ Our client prefers to take him now,” said Mr. Abel, 
drily. “ There is no longer any need for that precau- 
tion, as my father’s relationship to a gentleman in whom 
the objects of his search have full confidence, will be 


160 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


a sufficient guarantee for the friendly nature of their 
errand.” 

“ Ah ! ” thought Mr. Chuckster, looking out of win- 
dow, “ anybody but me ! Snobby before me, of course. 
He didn’t happen to take that particular five-pound 
note, but I have not the smallest doubt that he’s al- 
ways up to something of that sort. I always said it, 
long before this came out. Devilish pretty girl that! 
’Pon my soul, an amazing little creature ! ” 

Barbara was the subject of Mr. Chuckster’s commen- 
dations ; and as she was lingering near the carriage (all 
being now ready for its departure), that gentleman was 
suddenly seized with a strong interest in the proceedings, 
which impelled him to swagger down the garden, and 
take up his position at a convenient ogling distance. 
Having had great experience of the sex, and being 
perfectly acquainted with all those little artifices which 
find the readiest road to their hearts, Mr. Chuckster, 
on taking his ground, planted one hand on his hip, and 
with the other adjusted his flowing hair. This is a 
favorite attitude in the polite circles, and, accompanied 
with a graceful whistling, has been known to do im- 
mense execution. 

Such, however, is the difference between town and 
country, that nobody took the smallest notice of this in- 
sinuating figure ; the wretches being wholly engaged in 
bidding the travellers farewell, in kissing hands to each 
other, waving handkerchiefs, and the like tame and 
vulgar practices. For, now, the single gentleman and 
Air. Garland were in the ^carriage, and the post-boy 
was in the saddle, and Kit, well wrapped and muffled 
up, was in the rumble behind ; and Mrs. Garland was 
there, and Mr. Abel was there, and Kit’s mother was 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


161 


there, and little Jacob was there, and Barbara’s mother 
was visible in remote perspective, nursing the ever- 
wakeful baby ; and all were nodding, beckoning, curt- 
seying, or crying out “ Good-by ! ” with all the energy 
they could express. In another minute, the carriage 
was out of sight ; and Mr. Chuckster remained alone 
on the spot where it had lately been, with a vision of 
Kit standing up in the rumble waving his hand to 
Barbara, and of Barbara in the full light and lustre 
of his eyes — his eyes — Chuckster’s — Chuckster the 
successful — on whom ladies of quality had looked with 
favor from phaetons in the parks on Sundays — wav- 
ing hers to Kit ! 

How Mr. Chuckster, entranced by this monstrous fact, 
stood for some time rooted to the earth, protesting within 
himself that Kit was the Prince of felonious characters, 
and very Emperor or Great Mogul of Snobs, and how 
he clearly traced this revolting circumstance back to 
that old villany of the shilling, are matters foreign to 
our purpose ; which is to track the rolling wheels, and 
bear the travellers company on their cold, bleak jour- 
ney. 

It was a bitter day. A keen wind was blowing, and 
rushed against them fiercely ; bleaching the hard ground, 
shaking the white frost from the trees and hedges, and 
whirling it away like dust. But, little cared Kit for 
weather. There was a freedom and freshness in the 
wind, as it came howling by, which* let it cut never so 
sharp, was welcome. As it swept on with its cloud of 
fi’ost, bearing down the dry twigs and boughs and with- 
ered leaves, and carrying them away pell-mell, it seemed 
as though some general sympathy had got abroad, and 
everything was in a hurry, like themselves. The harder 
11 


vol. in. 


162 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the gusts, the better progress they appeared to make. 
It was a good thing to go struggling and fighting forward, 
vanquishing them one by one ; to watch them driving 
up, gathering strength and fury as they came along ; to 
bend for a moment, as they whistled past ; and then, to 
look back and see them speed away, their hoarse noise 
dying in the distance, and the stout trees cowering down 
before them. 

All day long, it blew without cessation. The night 
was clear and starlight, but the wind had not fallen, and 
the cold was piercing. Sometimes — towards the end 
of a long stage — Kit could not help wishing it were a 
little warmer : but when they stopped to change horses, 
and he had had a good run, and what with that, and the 
bustle of paying the old postilion, and rousing the new 
one, and running to and fro again until the horses were 
put to, he was so warm that the blood tingled and 
smarted in his fingers’ ends — then, he felt as if to 
have it one degree less cold would be to lose half the 
delight and glory of the journey ; and up he jumped 
again, right cheerily, singing to the merry music of the 
wheels as they rolled away, and, leaving the towns- 
people in their warm beds, pursued their course along 
the lonely road. 

Meantime the two gentlemen inside, who were little 
disposed to sleep, beguiled the time with conversation. 
As both were anxious and expectant, it naturally turned 
upon the subject of their expedition, on the manner in 
which it had been brought about, and on the hopes and 
fears they entertained respecting it. Of the former they 
had many, of the latter few — none perhaps beyond 
that indefinable uneasiness which is inseparable from 
suddenly awakened hope, and protracted expectation. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


LG 3 


In one of the pauses of their discourse, and when 
half the night had worn away, the single gentleman, 
who had gradually become more and more silent and 
thoughtful, turned to his companion and said abruptly, — 

“ Are you a good listener ? ” 

“ Like most other men, I suppose,” returned Mr. Gar- 
land, smiling. “ I can be, if I am interested ; and if not 
interested, I should still try to appear so. Why do you 
ask ? ” 

“ I have a short narrative on my lips,” rejoined his 
friend, “ and will try you with it. It is very brief.” 

Pausing for no reply, he laid his hand on the old gen- 
tleman^ sleeve, and proceeded thus : — 

“ There were once two brothers, who loved each other 
dearly. There was a disparity in their ages — some 
twelve years. I am not sure but they may insensibly 
have loved each other the better for that reason. Wide 
as the interval between them was, however, they became 
rivals too soon. The deepest and strongest affection of 
both their hearts settled upon one object. 

“ The youngest — there were reasons for his being sen- 
sitive and watchful — was the first to find this out. I will 
not tell you what misery he underwent, what agony of 
soul he knew, how great his mental struggle was. He 
had been a sickly child. His brother, patient and con- 
siderate in the midst of his own high health and strength, 
had many and many a day denied himself the sports he 
loved, to sit beside his couch, telling him old stories till 
his pale face lighted up with an unwonted glow ; to 
carry him in his arms to some green spot, where he 
could tend the poor pensive boy as he looked upon the 
bright summer day, and saw all nature healthy but him- 
self ; to be, in anyway, his fond and faithful nurse. J 


164 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


may not dwell on all he did, to make the poor, weak 
creature love him, or my tale would have no end. But 
when the time of trial came, the younger brother’s heart 
was full of those old days. Heaven strengthened it to 
repay the sacrifices of inconsiderate youth by one of 
thoughtful manhood. He left his brother to be happy. 
The truth never passed his lips, and he quitted the coun- 
try, hoping to die abroad. 

“ The elder brother married her. She was in Heaven 
before long, and left him with an infant daughter. 

“ If you have seen the picture-gallery of any one old 
family, you will remember how the same face and figure 
' — often the fairest and slightest of them all — come 
upon you in different generations ; and how you trace 
the same sweet girl through a long line of portraits — 
never growing old or changing — the Good Angel of 
the race — abiding by them in all reverses — redeeming 
all their sins — 

“ In this daughter, the mother lived again. You may 
judge with what devotion he who lost that mother almost 
in the winning, clung to this girl, her breathing image. 
She grew to womanhood, and gave her heart to one who 
could not know its worth. Well ! Her fond father could 
not see her pine and droop. He might be more deserv- 
ing than he thought him. He surely might become so, 
with a wife like her. He joined their hands, and they 
were married. 

“ Through all the misery that followed this union ; 
through all the cold neglect and undeserved reproach ; 
through all the poverty he brought upon her ; through 
all the struggles of their daily life, too mean and pit- 
iful to tell, but dreadful to endure ; she toiled on, in the 
deep devotion of her spirit, and in her better nature, 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


165 


as only women can. Hei means and substance wasted ; 
her father nearly beggared by her husband’s hand, and 
the hourly witness (for they lived now under one roof) 
of her ill-usage and unhappiness, — she never, but for 
him, bewailed her fate. Patient, and upheld by strong 
affection to the last, she died a widow of some three 
weeks’ date, leaving to her father’s care two orphans; 
one a son of ten or twelve years old ; the other a 
girl — such another infant child — the same in help- 
lessness, in age, in form, in feature — as she had been 
herself when her young mother died. 

“The elder brother, grandfather to these two chil- 
dren, was now a broken man ; crushed and borne down, 
less by the wait of years than by the heavy hand of 
sorrow. With the wreck of his possessions, he began 
to trade — in pictures first, and then in curious an- 
cient things. He had entertained a fondness for such 
matters from a boy, and the tastes he had cultivated 
were now to yield him an anxious and precarious sub- 
sistence. 

“ The boy grew like his father in mind and person ; 
the girl so like her mother, that when the old man had 
her on his knee, and looked into her mild blue eyes, 
he felt as if awakening from a wretched dream, and his 
daughter were a little child again. The wayward boy 
soon spurned the shelter of his roof, and sought asso- 
ciates more congenial to his taste. The old man and 
the child dwelt alone together. 

“ It was then, when the love of two dead people who 
had been nearest and dearest to his heart, was all trans- 
ferred to this slight creature ; when her face; constant- 
ly before him, reminded him, from hour to hour, of the 
too early change he had seen in such another — of all 


166 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


the sufferings he had watched and known, and all his 
child had undergone ; when the young man’s profligate 
and hardened course drained him of money as his fa- 
ther’s had, and even sometimes occasioned them tem- 
porary privation and distress ; it was then that there 
began to beset him, and to be ever in his mind, a gloomy 
dread of poverty and want. He had no thought for 
himself in this. His fear was for the child. It was a 
spectre in his house, and haunted him night and day. 

“ The younger brother had been a traveller in many 
countries, and had made his pilgrimage through life 
alone. His voluntary banishment had been misconstru- 
ed, and he had borne (not without pain) reproach and 
slight, for doing that which had wrung his heart, and 
cast a mournful shadow on his path. Apart from this, 
communication between him and the elder was difficult, 
and uncertain, and often failed ; still, it was not so 
wholly broken off but that he learnt — with long blanks 
and gaps between each interval of information — all that 
I have told you now. 

“ Then, dreams of their young, happy life — happy 
to him though laden with pain and early care — vis- 
ited his pillow yet oftener than before ; and every night, 
a boy again, he was at his brother’s side. With the 
utmost speed he could exert, he settled his affairs ; con- 
certed into money all the goods he had ; and, with hon- 
)rable wealth enough for both, with open heart and 
aand, with limbs that trembled as they bore him on, 
with emotion such as men can hardly bear and live, 
arrived one evening at his brother’s door !” 

The narrator, whose voice had faltered lately, stop- 
ped. “ The rest,” said Mr. Garland, pressing his hand 
after a pause, “ I know.” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


167 


“ Yes,” rejoined his friend, “ we may spare ourselves 
the sequel. You know the poor result of all my search. 
Even when, by dint of such inquiries as the utmost vig- 
ilance and sagacity could set on foot, we found they 
had been seen with two poor travelling showmen — and 
in time discovered the men themselves — and in time, 
the actual place of their retreat ; even then, we were 
too late. Pray God we are not too late again ! ” 

“ We cannot be,” said Mr. Garland. “ This time 
we must succeed.” 

“ I have believed and hoped so,” returned the other. 
“ I try to believe and hope so still. But a heavy weight 
has fallen on my spirits, my good friend, and the sad- 
ness that gathers over me, will yield to neither hope 
nor reason.” 

“ That does not surprise me,” said Mr. Garland ; u it 
is a natural consequence of the events you have re- 
called ; of this dreary time and place ; and above all, 
of this wild and dismal night. A dismal night, in- 
deed 1 Hark I how the wind is howling!” 


168 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


CHAPTER LXX. 

Day broke, and found them still upon their way. 
Since leaving home, they had halted here and there for 
necessary refreshment, and had frequently been delay- 
ed, especially in the night time, by waiting for fresh 
horses. They had made no other stoppages, but the 
weather continued rough and the roads were often steep 
and heavy. It would be night again before they reach- 
ed their place of destination. 

Kit, all bluff and hardened with the cold, went on 
manfully ; and, having enough to do to keep his blood 
circulating, to picture to himself the happy end of this 
adventurous journey, and to look about him and be 
amazed at everything, had little spare time for think- 
ing of discomforts. Though his impatience, and that 
of his fellow-travellers, rapidly increased as the day 
waned, the hours did not stand still. The short day- 
light of winter soon faded away, and it was dark again 
when they had yet many miles to travel. 

As it grew dusk ; the w r ind fell ; its distant moan- 
ings were more low and mournful ; and, as it came 
creeping up the road, and rattling covertly among the 
dry brambles on either hand, it seemed like some great 
phantom for whom the way was narrow, whose gar- 
ments rustled as it stalked along. By degrees it lulled 
and died aw r ay, and then it came on to snow. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


169 


The flakes fell fast and thick, soon covering the 
ground some inches deep, and spreading abroad a sol- 
emn stillness. The rolling wheels were noiseless, and 
the sharp ring and clatter of the horses’ hoofs, became 
a dull, muffled tramp. The life of their progress seem- 
ed to be slowly hushed, and something death-like to 
usurp its place. 

Shading his eyes from the falling snow, which froze 
upon their lashes, and obscured his sight, Kit often 
tried to catch the earliest glimpse of twinkling lights 
denoting their approach to some not distant town. He 
could descry objects enough at such times, but none 
correctly. Now, a tall church spire appeared in view, 
which presently became a tree, a barn, a shadow on 
the ground, thrown on it by their own bright lamps. 
Now, there were horsemen, foot-passengers, carriages 
going on before, or meeting them in narrow ways ; 
which, when they were close upon them, turned to shad- 
ows too. A wall, a ruin, a sturdy gable end, would 
rise up in the road ; and, when they were plunging 
headlong at it, would be the road itself. Strange turn- 
ings too, bridges, and sheets of water, appeared to start 
up her) and there, making the way doubtful and un- 
certain ; and yet they were on the same bare road, and 
these things, like the others, as they were passed, turn- 
ed into dim illusions. 

He descended slowly from his seat — for his limbs 
vere numbed — when they arrived at a lone posting- 
house, and inquired how far they had to go to reach 
their journey’s end. It was a late hour in such by- 
places, and the people were abed ; but a voice answered 
from an upper window, Ten miles. The ten minutes 
that ensued appeared an hour ; but at the end of that 


170 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


time, a shivering figure led out the horses they required, 
and after another brief delay they were again in motion. 

It was a cross-country road, full after the first three 
or four miles, of holes and cart-ruts, which, being cov- 
ered by the snow, were so many pitfalls to the trembling 
horses, and obliged them to keep a footpace. As it was 
next to impossible for men so much agitated as they 
were by this time, to sit still and move so slowly, all 
three got out and plodded on behind the carriage. The 
distance seemed interminable, and the walk was most 
laborious. As each was thinking within himself that the 
driver must have lo-t his way, a church bell, close at 
hand, struck the hour of midnight, and the carriage 
stopped. It had moved softly enough, but when it 
ceased to crunch the snow, the silence was as startling 
as if some great noise had been replaced by perfect still- 
ness. 

“ This is the place, gentlemen,” said the driver, dis- 
mounting from his horse, and knocking at the door of a 
little inn. “ Halloa ! Past twelve o’clock is the dead 
of night here.” 

The knocking was loud and long, but it failed to rouse 
the drowsy inmates. All continued dark and silent as 
before. They fell back a little, and looked up at the 
windows, which were mere black patches in the whitened 
house front. No light appeared. The house might have 
been deserted, or the sleepers dead, for any air of light 
it had about it. 

They spoke together with a strange inconsistency, in 
whispers ; unwilling to disturb again, the dreary echoes 
they had just now raised. 

“ Let us go on,” said the younger brother, “ and leave 
this good fellow to wake them, if he can. I cannot rest 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


171 


until I know that we are not too late. Let us go on, in 
the name of Heaven ! ” 

They did so, leaving the postilion to order such ac- 
commodation as the house afforded, and to renew his 
knocking. Kit accompanied them with a little bundle, 
which he had hung in the carriage when they left home, 
and had not forgotten since — the bird in his old cage — 
just as she had left him. She would be glad to see her 
bird, he knew. 

The road wound gently downward. As they pro- 
ceeded, they lost sight of the church whose clock they had 
heard, and of the small village clustering round it. The 
knocking, which was now renewed, and which in that 
stillness they could plainly hear, troubled them. They 
wished the man would forbear, or that they had told him 
not to break the silence until they returned. 

The old church tower, clad in the ghostly garb of pure 
cold white again rose up before them, and a few mo- 
ments brought them close beside it. A venerable build- 
ing — gray, even in the midst of the hoary landscape. 
An ancient sun-dial on the belfry wall was nearly hid- 
den by the snow-drift, and scarcely to be known for 
what it was. Time itself seemed to have grown dull 
and old, as if no day were ever to displace the melan- 
choly night. 

A wicket gate was close at hand, but there was more 
than one path across the church-yard to which it led, 
and, uncertain which to take, they came to a stand 
again. 

The village street — if street that could be called 
tfhich was an irregular cluster of poor cottages of many 
heights and ages, some with their fronts, some with their 
backs, and some with their gable ends towards the road, 


172 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


with heie and there a sign-post, or a shed encroaching on 
the path — was close at hand. There was a faint light 
in a chamber window not far off, and Kit ran towards 
that house to ask their way. 

His first shout was answered by an old man within, 
who presently appeared at the casement, wrapping some 
garment round his throat as a protection from the cold, 
and demanded who was abroad at that unseasonable hour 
wanting him. 

44 ’Tis hard weather this,” he grumbled, 44 and not a 
night to call me up in. My trade is not of that kind 
that I need be roused from bed. The business on which 
folks want me, will keep cold, especially at this season. 
What do you want ? ” 

44 1 would not have roused you, if I had known you 
were old and ill,” said Kit: 

44 Old ! ” repeated the other peevishly. 44 How do you 
know I am old ? Not so old as you think, friend, per- 
haps. As to being ill, you will find many young people 
in worse case than I am. More’s the pity that it should 
be so — not that I should be strong and hearty for my 
years, I mean, but that they should be weak and tender. 
I ask your pardon though,” said the old man, 44 if I spoke 
rather rough at first. M} r eyes are not good at night — 
that’s neither age nor illness ; they never were — and I 
didn’t see you were a stranger.” 

44 1 am sorry to call you from your bed,” said Kit, 
u but those gentlemen you may see by the church-yard 
gate, are strangers too, who have just arrived from a 
long journey, and seek the parsonage-house. You can 
direct us ? ” 

44 1 should be able to,” answered the old man, in a 
trembling voice, 44 for, come next summer, I have been 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


173 


gexton here, good fifty years. The right-hand path, 
friend, is the road. — There is no ill news for our good 
gentleman, I hope ? ” 

Kit thanked him, and made him a hasty answer in the 
negative ; he was turning back, when his attention was 
caught by the voice of a child. Looking up he saw a 
very little creature at a neighboring window. 

“ What is that ? ” cried the child, earnestly. “ Has 
my dream come true ? Pray speak to me, whoever that 
is, awake and up.” 

“ Poor boy ! ” said the sexton, before Kit could an- 
swer, “how goes it, darling?” 

“ Has my dream come true ? ” exclaimed the child 
again, in a voice so fervent that it might have thrilled 
to the heart of any listener. “ But no, that can never 
be ! How could it be — Oh ! how could it ! ” 

“I guess his meaning,” said the sexton. “To bed 
again, poor boy ! ” 

“ Ay ! ” cried the child, in a burst of despair. “ I 
knew it could never be, I felt too sure of that, before I 
asked ! But, all to-night, and last night, too, it was the 
same. I never fall asleep but that cruel dream comes 
back.” 

“ Try to sleep again,” said the old man, soothingly. 
“It will go, in time.” 

“ No, no, I would rather that it staid — cruel as it is, 
I would rather that it staid,” rejoined the child. “ I am 
not afraid to have it in my sleep, but I am so sad — so 
very, very sad.” 

The old man blessed him, the child in tears replied 
Good-night, and Kit was again alone. 

He hurried back, moved by what he had heard, 
though more by the child’s manner than by anything he 


174 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


had said, as his meaning was hidden from him. They 
took the path indicated by the sexton, and soon arrived 
before the parsonage wall. Turning round to look about 
them when they had got thus far, they saw, among some 
ruined buildings at a distance, one single solitary light. 

It shone from what appeared to be an old oriel win- 
daw, and being surrounded by the deep shadows of 
overhanging walls, sparkled like a star. Bright and 
glimmering as the stars above their heads, lonely and 
motionless as they, it seemed to claim some kindred with 
the eternal lamps of Heaven, and to burn in fellowship 
with them. 

“ What light is that ! ” said the younger brother. 

“ It is surely ,” said Mr. Garland, “ in the ruin where 
they live. I see no other ruin hereabouts.” 

“ They cannot,” returned the brother hastily, “ be 
w r aking at this late hour” — 

Kit interposed directly, and begged that, while they 
rang and waited at the gate, they would let him make 
his way to where this light was shining, and try to ascer- 
tain if any people were about. Obtaining the permission 
he desired, he darted off with breathless eagerness, and, 
still carrying the bird-cage in his hand, made straight 
towards the spot. 

It was not easy to hold that pace among the graves, 
and at another time he might have gone more slowly, or 
round by the path. Unmindful of all obstacles, however 
he pressed forward without slackening his speed, and 
soon arrived within a few yards of the window. 

He approached as softly as he could, and advancing 
so near the wall as to brush the whitened ivy with his 
dress, listened. There was no sound inside. The 
church itself was not more quiet. Touching the glass 


TIIE OLD CURIOSITY SA-& 


175 


with his cheek, he listened again. No. A yet there 
was such a silence all around thfU he felt sure he could 
have heard even the breathing of & sleeper, if there had 
been one there. 

A strange circumstance, a light in such a place at that 
time of night, with no one i^ear it. 

A curtain was drawn across the lower portion of the 
window, and he could not see into the room. But there 
was no shadow thrown upon it from within. To have 
gained a footing on the wall and tried to look in from 
above, would have been attended with some danger — 
certainly with some noise, and the chance of terrifying 
the child, if that really were her habitation. Again and 
again he listened ; again and again the same wearisome 
blank. 

Leaving the spot with slow and cautious steps, and 
skirting the ruin for a few paces, he came at length to a 
door. He knocked. No answer. But there was a 
curious noise inside. It was difficult to determine what 
it was. It bore a resemblance to the low moaning of 
one in pain, but it was not that, being far too regular 
and constant. Now it seemed a kind of song, now a 
wail — seemed, that is, to his changing fancy, for the 
sound itself was never changed or checked. It was un- 
like anything he had ever heard ; and in its tone there 
was something fearful, chilling, and unearthly. 

The listener’s blood ran colder now, than ever it had 
done in frost and snow, but he knocked again. There 
was no answer, and the sound went on without any 
interruption. He laid his liand softly upon the latch, 
and put his knee against the door. It was secured on 
the inside, but yielded to the pressure, and turned upon 
\ts hinges. He saw the glimmering of a fire upon the 
old walls, and entered. 


176 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


CHAPTER LXXL 

The dull, red glow of a wood fire — for no lamp or 
candle burnt within the room — showed him a figure, 
seated on the hearth with its back towards him, bending 
over the fitful light. The attitude was that of one who 
sought the heat. It was, and yet was not. The stoop- 
ing posture and the cowering form were there, but no 
hands were stretched out to meet the grateful warmth, 
no §hrug or shiver compared its luxury with the pierc- 
ing cold outside. With limbs huddled together, head 
bowed down, arms crossed upon the breast, and fingers 
tightly clenched, it rocked to and fro upon its seat with- 
out a moment’s pause, accompanying the action with the 
mournful sound he had heard. 

The heavy door had closed behind him on his entrance, 
with a crash that made him start. The figure neither 
spoke, nor turned to look, nor gave in any other way the 
faintest sign of having heard the noise. The form was 
that of an old man, his white head akin in color to the 
mouldering embers upon which he gazed. He, and th 
failing light and dying fire, the time-worn room, the soli- 
tude, the wasted life, and gloom, were all in fellowship. 
Ashes, and dust, and ruin ! 

Kit tried to speak, and did pronounce some words, 
though what they were he scarcely knew. Still the 
same terrible low cry went on — still the same rocking 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


177 


in the chair — the same stricken figure was there, un- 
changed and heedless of his presence. 

He had his hand upon the latch, when something in 
the form ; distinctly seen as one log broke and fell, and,, 
as it fell, blazed up — arrested it. He returned to where 
he had stood before — advanced a pace — another — 
another still. Another, and he saw the face. Yes ! 
Changed as it was, he knew it well. 

u Master ! ” he cried, stooping on one knee and catch- 
ing at his hand. “ Dear master. Speak to me ! ” 

The old man turned slowly towards him ; and mut- 
tered in a hollow voice, — 

“ This is another ! — How many of these spirits there 
have been to-night ! ” 

“ No spirit, master. No one but your old servant. 
You know me now, I am sure ? Miss Nell — where is 
she — where is she ! ” 

“ They all say that ! ” cried the old man. “ They all 
ask the same question. A spirit ! ” 

“ Where is she ? ” demanded Kit. “ Oh tell me but 
that — but that, dear master ! ” 

“ She is asleep — yonder — in there.” 

“ Thank God ! ” 

“ Ay ! Thank God ! ” returned the old man. “ I 
have prayed to Him, many, and many, and many a live- 
long night, when she has been asleep, He knows. Hark! 
Did she call ? ” 

“ I heard no voice.” 

“ You did. You hear her now. Do you tell me that 
you don’t hear that ? ” 

He started up, and listened again. 

“ Nor that ? ” he cried, with a triumphant smile. “ Can 
Anybody know that voice so well as I ! Hush ! hush ! ” 
12 


VOL. III. 


178 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


Motioning to him to be silent, he stole away into an- 
other chamber. After a short absence (during which he 
could be heard to speak in a softened soothing tone) he 
returned, bearing in his hand a lamp. 

“ She is still asleep,” he whispered. “ You were 
right. She did not call — unless she did so in her slum- 
ber. She has called to me in her sleep before now, sir ; 
as I have sat by, watching, I have seen her lips move, 
and have known, though no sound came from them, that 
she spoke of me. I feared the light might dazzle her 
eyes and wake her, so I brought it here.” 

He spoke rather to himself than to the visitor, but 
when he had put the lamp upon the table, he took it up, 
as if impelled by some momentary recollection or curi- 
osity, and held it near his face. Then, as if forgetting 
his motive in the very action, he turned away and put it 
down again. 

“ She is sleeping soundly,” he said ; “but no wonder. 
Angel hands have strewn the ground deep with snow, 
that the lightest footstep may be lighter yet ; and the 
very birds are dead, that they may not wake her. She 
used to feed them, sir. Though never so cold and hun- 
gry, the timid things would fly from us. They never 
flew from her ! ” 

Again he stopped to listen, and scarcely drawing 
breath, listened for a long, long time. That fancy past, 
be opened an old chest, took out some clothes as fondly 
as if they had been living things, and began to smooth 
and brush them with his hand. 

16 Why dost thou lie so idle there, dear Nell,” he mur- 
mured, “ when there are bright red berries out of doors 
waiting for thee to pluck them ! Why dost thou life so 
idle there, when thy little friends come creeping to the 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


179 


door, crying ‘ where is Nell — sweet Nell?’ — and sob, 
and weep, because they do not see thee. She was al 
ways gentle with children. The wildest would do her 
bidding — she had a tender way with them, indeed she 
had!” 

Kit had no power to speak. His eyes were filled with 
tears. 

“ Her little homely dress, — her favorite ! ” cried the 
old man, pressing it to his breast, and patting it with his 
shrivelled hand. “ She will miss it when she wakes. 
They have hid it here in sport, but she shall have it — 
she shall have it. I would not vex my darling, for the 
wide world’s riches. See here — these shoes — how 
worn they are — she kept them to remind her of our 
last long journey. You sea where the little feet went 
bare upon the ground. They told me, afterwards, that 
the stones had cut and bruised them. She never told me 
that. No, no, God bless her ! and, I have remembered 
since, she walked behind me, sir, that I might not see 
how lame she was — but yet she had my hand in hers, 
and seemed to lead me still.” 

He pressed them to his lips, and having carefully put 
them back again, 'went on communing with himself — 
looking wistfully from time to time towards the chamber 
he had lately visited. 

“ She was not wont to be a lie-abed ; but she was well 
then. We must have patience. When she is well again, 
she will rise early, as she used to do, and ramble abroad 
in the healthy morning time. I often tried to track the 
way she had gone, but her small footstep left no print 
upon the dewy ground, to guide me. Who is that ? 
Shut the door. Quick ! — Have we not enough to do to 
drive away that marble cold, and keep her warm ! ” 


180 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


The door was indeed opened, for the entrance of Mr 
Garland and his friend, accompanied by two other per- 
sons. These were the school-master, and the bachelor. 
The former held a light in his hand. He had, it seemed, 
L ut gone to his own cottage to replenish the exhausted 
lamp, at the moment when Kit came up and found the 
old man alone. 

He softened again at sight of these two friends, and 
laying aside the angry manner — if to anything so feeble 
and so sad the term can be applied — in which he had 
spoken when the door opened, resumed his former seat, 
and subsided, by little and little, into the old action, and 
the old, dull, wandering sound. 

Of the strangers, he took no heed whatever. He had 
seen them, but appeared quite incapable of interest or 
curiosity. The younger brother stood apart. The bach- 
elor drew a chair towards the old man, and sat down close 
beside him. After a long silence, he ventured to speak. 

“ Another night, and not in bed ! ” he said softly ; “ I 
hoped you would be more mindful of your promise to me. 
Why do you not take some rest ? ” 

“ Sleep has left me,” returned the old man. “ It is all 
with her ! ” 

“ It would pain her very much to know that you were 
watching thus,” said the bachelor. “ You would not give 
her pain ? ” 

“ I am not so sure of that, if it would only rouse her. 
She has slept so very long. And yet I am rash to say 
so. It is a good and happy sleep — eh?” 

“ Indeed it is,” returned the bachelor. “ Indeed, in- 
deed, it is ! ” 

“ That’s well ! — and the waking ” — faltered the old 
man. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


181 


“ Happy too. Happier than tongue can tell, or heart 
of man conceive. ,, 

They watched him as he rose and stole on tiptoe to the 
other chamber where the lamp had been replaced. They 
listened as he spoke again within its silent walls. They 
looked into the faces of each other, and no man’s cheek 
was free from tears. He came back, whispering that 
she was still asleep, but that he thought she had moved. 
It was her hand, he said — a little — a very, very little 
— but he was pretty sure she had moved it — perhaps 
in seeking his. He had known her do that, before now, 
though in the deepest sleep the while. And when he 
had said this, he dropped into his chair again, and clasp- 
ing his hands above his head, uttered a cry never to be 
forgotten. 

The poor school-master motioned to the bachelor 
that he would come on the other side, and speak to 
him. They gently unlocked his fingers, which he had 
twisted in his gray hair, and pressed them in their 
own. 

“ He will hear me,” said the school-master, “ I am sure. 
He will hear either me or you if we beseech him. She 
would, at all times.” 

“ I will hear any voice she liked to hear,” cried the old 
man. “ I love all she loved ! ” 

“ I know you do,” returned the school-master. “ I am 
certain of it. Think of her ; think of all the sorrows and 
afflictions you have shared together ; of all the trials, and 
all the peaceful pleasures, you have jointly known.” 

“ I do. I do. I think of nothing else.” 

u I would have you think of nothing else to-night — of 
nothing but those things which will soften your heart, 
dear friend, and open it to old affections and old times. 


L82 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


It is so that she would speak to you herself, and in her 
name it is that I speak now.” 

“ You do well to speak softly,” said the old man. “Wc 
will not wake her. I should be glad to see her eyes again, 
and to see her smile. There is a smile upon her young 
face now, but it is fixed and changeless. I would have 
it come and go. That shall be in Heaven’s good time 
We will not wake her.” 

“ Let us not talk of her in her sleep, but as she used 
to be when you were journeying together, far away — 
as she was at home, in the old house from which you fled 
together — as she was, in the old cheerful time,” said the 
school-master. 

“ She was always cheerful — very cheerful,” cried the 
old man, looking steadfastly at him. “ There was ever 
something mild and quiet about her, I remember, from 
the first ; but she was of a happy nature.” 

“We have heard you say,” pursued the school-master 
“ that in this, and in all goodness, she was like her mother 
You can think of, and remember her ? ” 

He maintained his steadfast look, but gave no an 
swer. 

“ Or even one before her,” said the bachelor. “ It h 
many years ago, and affliction makes the time longer, but 
you have not forgotten her whose death contributed to 
make this child so dear to you, even before you knew her 
worth or could read her heart? Say, that you could 
parry back your thoughts to very distant days — to the 
time of your early life — when, unlike this fair flower, 
you did not pass your youth alone. Say, that you could 
remember, long ago, another child who loved you dearly, 
you being but a child yourself. Say, that you had a 
brother, long forgotten, long unseen, long separated from 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


183 


you* who now, at last, in your utmost need came back to 
comfort and console you ” — 

“ To be to you what you were once to him,” cried the 
younger* falling on his knee before him ; “ to repay your 
old affection, brother dear* by constant care, solicitude, 
and love ; to be, at your right hand, what he has never 
ceased to be when oceans rolled between us ; to call to 
witness his unchanging truth and mindfulness of by-gone 
days, whole years of desolation. Give me but one word 
of recognition, brother — and never — no never, in the 
brightest moment of our youngest days, when, poor silly 
boys, we thought to pass our lives together — have we 
been half as dear and precious to each other as we shall 
be from this time hence I ” 

The old man looked from face to face, and his lips 
moved ; but no sound came from them in reply. 

“ If we were knit together then,” pursued the younger 
brother, u what will be the bond between us now ! Our 
love and fellowship began in childhood^ when life was al) 
before us, and will be resumed when we have proved it, 
and are but children at the last. As many restless spir- 
its, who have hunted fortune, fame, or pleasure through 
the world, retire in their decline to where they first drew 
breath, vainly seeking to be children once again before 
they die, so we, less fortunate than they in early life, but 
happier in its closing scenes, will set up our rest again 
among our boyish haunts, and going home with no hope 
realized, that had its growth in manhood — carrying back 
nothing that we brought away, but our old yearnings to 
each other — saving no fragment from the wreck of life, 
but that which first endeared it — may be, indeed, but 
children as at first. And even,” he added in an altered 
voice, even if what I dread to name has come to pass 


184 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


• — even if that be so, or is to be (which Heaven forbid 
and spare us ! ) — still, dear brother, we are not apart, 
and have that comfort in our great affliction.” 

By little and little, the old man had drawn back towards 
the inner chamber, while these words were spoken. He 
pointed there, as he replied, with trembling lips. 

“ You plot among you to wean my heart from her. 
You never will do that — never while I have life. I 
have no relative or friend but her — I never had — I 
never will have. She is all in all to me. It is too late 
to part us now.” 

Waving them off with his hand, and calling softly to 
her as he went, he stole into the room. They who were 
left behind, drew close together, and after a few whis- 
pered words — not unbroken by emotion, or easily uttered 
— followed him. They moved so gently, that their foot- 
steps made no noise ; but there were sobs from among 
the group, and sounds of grief and mourning. 

For she was dead. There, upon her little bed, she 
lay at rest. The solemn stillness was no marvel now. 

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free 
from trace of pain so fair to look upon. She seemed 
a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for 
the breath of life ; not one who had lived and suffered 
death. 

Her couch was dressed with here and there some win - 
ter berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had 
been used to favor. “ When I die, put near me some 
thing that has loved the light, and had the sky above it 
always.” Those were her words. 

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell, was 
dead. Her little bird — a poor slight thing the pressure 
of a finger would have crushed — was stirring nimbly in 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


185 


its cage ; and the strong heart of its child-mistress was 
mute and motionless forever. 

Where were the traces of her early cares, her suffer- 
ings, and fatigues ? All gone. Sorrow was dead indeed 
in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born ; 
imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose. 

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this 
change. Yes. The old fireside had smiled upon that 
same sweet face ; it had passed, like a dream, through 
haunts of misery and care ; at the door of the poor 
school-master on the summer evening, before the furnace 
fire upon the cold wet night, at the still bedside of the 
dying boy, there had been the same mild lovely look. 
So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after 
death. 

The old man held one languid arm in his, and had 
the small hand tight folded to his breast, for warmth. 
It was the hand she had stretched out to him with her 
last smile — the hand that had led him on, through all 
their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his 
lips ; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that 
it was warmer now; and, as he said it, he looked, in 
agony, to those who stood around, as if imploring them 
to help her. 

She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The 
ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even 
while her own was waning fast — the garden she had 
tended — the eyes she had gladdened — the noiseless 
haunts of many a thoughtful hour — the paths she had 
trodden as it were but yesterday — could know her 
never more. 

“ It is not,” said the school-master, as he bent down 
to kiss her on the cheek, and gave his tears free vent, 


186 


THE} OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


“ it is not on earth that Heaven’s justice ends. Think 
what earth is, compared with the world to which her 
young spirit has winged its early flight ; and say, if 
one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms above 
this bed could call her back to life, which of us would 
u ^.er it 1 ” 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


187 


CHAPTER LXXIL 

When morning came, and they could speak more 
calmly on the subject of their grief, they heard how her 
life had closed. 

She had been dead two days. They were all about 
her at the time* knowing that the end was drawing on. 
She died soon after daybreak. They had read and 
talked to her in the earlier portion of the night* but as 
the hours crept on, she sunk to sleep. They could tell 
by what she faintly uttered in her dreams, that they 
were of her journeyings with the old man ; they were 
of no painful scenes, but of people who had helped and 
used them kindly, for she often said “ God bless you ! ” 
with great fervor. Waking, she never wandered in her 
mind but once, and that was of beautiful music which 
she said was in the air. God knows. It may have 
been. 

Opening her eyes at last, from a very quiet sleep, 
she begged that they would kiss her once again. That 
done, she turned to the old man with a lovely smile 
jpon her face — such, they said, as they had never 
seen, and never could forget — and clung with both her 
arms about his neck. They did not know that she was 
lead, at first. 

She had spoken very often of the two sisters, who, 


188 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


she said, were like dear friends to her. She wished 
they could be told how much she thought about them, 
and how she had watched them as they walked together, 
by the river side at night. She would like to see poor 
Kit, she had often said of late. She wished there was 
somebody to take her love to Kit. And, even then, she 
never thought or spoke about him, but with something 
of her old, clear, merry laugh. 

For the rest, she had never murmured or complain- 
ed ; but, with a quiet mind, and manner quite unaltered 

— save that she every day became more earnest and 
more grateful to them — faded like the light upon a sum- 
mer’s evening. 

The child who had been her little friend came there, 
almost as soon as it was day, with an offering of dried 
flowers which he begged them to lay upon her breast. 
It was he who had come to the window overnight and 
spoken to the sexton, and they saw in the snow traces 
of small feet, where he had been lingering near the 
room in which she lay, before he went to bed. He had 
a fancy, it seemed, that they had left her there alone ; 
and could not bear the thought. 

He told them of his dream again, and that it was 
of her being restored to them, just as she used to be. 
He begged hard to see her, saying that he would be 
very quiet, and that they need not fear his being 
alarmed, for he had sat alone by his young brother all 
day long, when he was dead, and had felt glad to be 
so near him. They let him have his wish ; and indeed 
he kept his word, and was, in his childish way, a les- 
son to them all. 

Up to that time, the old man had not spoken once 

— except to her — or stirred from the bedside. But 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


189 


when he saw her little favorite, he was moved as they 
had not seen him yet, and made as though he would 
have him come nearer. Then, pointing to the bed, he 
burst into tears for the first time, and they who stood 
by, knowing that the sight of this child had done him 
good, left them alone together. 

Soothing him with his artless talk of her, the child 
persuaded him to take some rest, to walk abroad, to do 
almost as he desired him. And when the day came 
on, which must remove her in her earthly shape from 
earthly eyes forever, he led him away, that he might 
not know when she was taken from him. 

They were to gather fresh leaves and berries for hei 
bed. It was Sunday — a bright, clear, wintry afternoon 
— and as they traversed the village street, those who 
were walking in their path drew back to make way for 
them, and gave them a softened greeting. Some shook 
the old man kindly by the hand, some stood uncovered 
while he tottered by, and many cried “ God help him ! ” 
as he passed along. 

“ Neighbor ! ” said the old man, stopping at the cot- 
tage where his young guide’s mother dwelt, “ how is it 
that the folks are nearly all in black to-day? I have 
seen a mourning ribbon or a piece of crape on almost 
every one.” 

She could not tell, the woman said. 

“ Why, you yourself — you wear the color too ! ” he 
said. “ Windows are closed that never used to be by 
day. What does this mean ? ” 

Again the woman said she could not tell. 

“We must go back,” said the old man, hurriedly. 

We must see what this is.” 

“ No, no,” cried the child, detaining him. “ Remem- 


190 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


ber what you promised. Our way is to the old green 
lane, where she and I so often were, and where you 
found us, more than once, making those garlands for 
her garden; Do not turn back ! ” 

“ Where is she now ? ” said the old man. “ Tell me 
that.” 

“ Do you not know ? ” returned the child. “ Did we 
not leave her, but just now ? ” 

“ True. True. It was her we left — was it ! ” 

He pressed his hand upon his brow, looked vacantly 
round, and as if impelled by a sudden thought, crossed 
the road, and entered the sexton’s house. He and his 
deaf assistant were sitting before the fire. Both rose 
up, on seeing who it was. 

The child made a hasty sign to them with his hand. 
It was the action of an instant, but that, and the old 
man’s look, were quite enough. 

“ Do you — do you bury any one to-day ? ” he said, 
eagerly. 

“No, no! Who should we bury, sir?” returned the 
sexton. 

“ Ay, who indeed ! I say with you, who indeed ? ” 
“It is a holiday with us, good sir?” returned the 
sexton mildly. “ We have no work to do to-day.” 

“ Why then, I’ll go where you will,” said the old 
man, turning to the child. “You’re sure of what you 
tell me ? You would not deceive me ? I am changed, 
even in the little time since you last saw me.” 

“ Go thy ways with him, sir,” cried the sexton, “ and 
Heaven be with ye both ! ” 

“ I am quite ready,” said the old man, meekly. 
tt Come, boy, come ” — and so submitted to be led 
away. 


THIS OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


191 


And now the bell — the bell she had so often heard, 
by night and day, and listened to with solemn pleasure 
almost as a living voice — rung its remorseless toll, for 
her, so young, so beautiful, so good. Decrepit age, and 
vigorous life, and blooming youth, and helpless infancy, 
poured forth — on crutches, in the pride of strength and 
health, in the full blush of promise, in the mere dawn 
of life — to gather round her tomb. Old men were 
there, whose eyes were dim and senses failing — grand- 
mothers, who might have died ten years ago, and still 
been old — the deaf, the blind, the lame, the palsied, 
the living dead in many shapes and forms, to see the 
closing of that early grave. What was the death it 
would shut in, to that which still could crawl and creep 
above it ! 

Along the crowded path they bore her now ; pure as 
the newly fallen snow that covered it; whose day on 
earth had been as fleeting. Under the porch, where she 
had sat when Heaven in its mercy brought her to that 
peaceful spot, she passed again ; and the old church re- 
ceived her in its quiet shade. 

They carried her to one old nook, where she had 
many and many a time sat musing, and laid their bur- 
den softly on the pavement. The light streamed on it 
through the colored window — a window, where the 
boughs of trees were ever rustling in the summer, and 
where the birds sang sweetly all day long. With every 
breath of air that stirred among those branches in the 
sunshine, some trembling, changing light, would fall upon 
her grave. 

Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust ! Many a 
young hand dropped in its little wreath, many a stifled 
sob was heard. Some — and they were not a few — 


192 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


knelt down. All were sincere and truthful in their 
sorrow. 

The service done, the mourners stood apart, and the 
villagers closed round to look into the grave before the 
pavement-stone should be replaced. One, called to mind 
how he had seen her sitting on that very spot, and how 
her book had fallen on her lap, and she was gazing with 
a pensive face upon the sky. Another, told how he had 
wondered much that one so delicate as she, should be so 
bold ; how she had never feared to enter the church 
alone at night, but had loved to linger there when all 
was quiet, and even to climb the tower stair, with no 
more light than that of the moon rays stealing through 
the loopholes in the thick old wall. A whisper went 
about among the oldest, that she had seen and talked 
with angels ; and when they called to mind how she had 
looked, and spoken, and her early death, some thought 
it might be so, indeed. Thus, coming to the grave in 
little knots, and glancing down, and giving place to 
others, and falling off in whispering groups of three or 
four, the church was cleared in time, of all but the sex- 
ton and the mourning friends. 

They saw the vault covered, and the stone fixed down. 
Then, when the dusk of evening had come on, and not a 
sound disturbed the sacred stillness of the place — when 
the bright moon poured in her light on tomb and monu- 
ment, on pillar, wall, and arch, and most of all (it seemed 
to them) upon her quiet grave — in that calm time, 
when outward things and inward thoughts teem with as- 
surances of immortality, and worldly hopes and fears 
are humbled in the dust before them — then, with tran- 
quil and submissive hearts they turned away, and left 
the child with God. 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


193 


Oh ! it is hard to take to heart the lesson that such 
deaths will teach, but let no man reject it, for it is one 
that all must learn, and is a mighty, universal Truth. 
When Death strikes down the innocent and young, for 
every fragile form from which he lets the panting spirit 
free, a hundred virtues rise, in shapes of mercy, charity, 
and love, to walk the world, and bless it. Of every tear 
that sorrowing mortals shed on such green graves, some 
good is born, some gentler nature comes. In the de- 
stroyer’s steps there spring up bright creations that 
defy his power, and his dark path becomes a way of 
light to Heaven. 

It was late when the old man came home. The boy 
had led him to his own dwelling, under some pretence, 
on their way back ; and, rendered drowsy by his long 
ramble and late want of rest, he had sunk into a deep 
sleep by the fireside. He was perfectly exhausted, and 
they were careful not to rouse him. The slumber held 
him a long time, and when he at length awoke the moon 
was shining. 

The younger brother, uneasy at his protracted ab- 
sence, was watching at the door for his coming, when 
he appeared in the pathway with his little guide. He 
advanced to meet them, and tenderly obliging the old 
man to lean upon his arm, conducted him with slow and 
trembling steps towards the house. 

He repaired to her chamber, straight. Not finding 
what he had left there, he returned with distracted looks 
to the room in which they were assembled. From that, 
he rushed into the school-master’s cottage, calling her 
same. They followed close upon him, and when he had 
mainly searched it, brought him home. 

13 


VOL. III. 


194 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


With such persuasive words as pity and affbeteori 
could suggest, they prevailed upon him to sit among 
them and hear what they should tell him. Then, en- 
deavoring by every little artifice to prepare his mind for 
what must come, and dwelling with many fervent words 
upon the happy lot to which she had been removed, they 
told him, at last, the truth. The moment it had passed 
their lips, he fell down among them like a murdered 
man. 

For many hours, they had little hope of his surviving; 
but grief is strong, and he recovered. 

If there be any who have never known the blank that 
follows death — the weary void — the sense of desola- 
tion that will come upon the strongest minds, when 
something familiar and beloved is missed at every turn 
— the connection between inanimate and senseless things, 
and the object of recollection, when every household god 
becomes a monument and every room a grave — if there 
be any who have not known this, and proved it by their 
own experience, they can never faintly guess, how, for 
many days, the old man pined and moped away the time, 
and wandered here and there as seeking something, and 
had no comfort. 

Whatever power of thought or memory he retained, 
was all bound up in her. He never understood, or 
seemed to care to understand, about his brother. To 
every endearment and attention he continued listless. 
If they spoke to him on this, or any other theme — save 
one — he would hear them patiently for a while, then 
turn away, and go on seeking as before. 

On that one theme, which was in his and all their 
minds, it was impossible to touch. Dead ! He could 
uot hear or bear the word. The slightest hint of it 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


105 


would throw him into a paroxysm, like that he had had 
when it was first spoken. In what hope he lived, no 
man could tell ; but, that he had some hope of finding 
her again — some faint and shadowy hope, deferred from 
day to day, and making him from day to day more sick 
and sore at heart — was plain to all. 

They bethought them of a removal from the scene of 
this last sorrow ; of trying whether change of place 
would rouse or cheer him. His brother sought the ad- 
vice of those who were accounted skilful in such matters, 
and they came and saw him. Some of the number 
stayed upon the -spot, conversed with him when he 
would converse, and watched him as he wandered up 
and down, alone and silent. Move him where they 
might, they said, he would ever seek to get back there. 
His mind would run upon that spot. If they confined 
him closely, and kept a strict guard upon him, they 
might hold him prisoner, but if he could by any means 
escape, he would surely wander back to that place, or 
die upon the road. 

The boy to whom he had submitted at first, had no 
longer any influence with him. At times he would suffer 
the child to walk by his side, or would even take such no- 
tice of his presence as giving him his hand, or would stop 
to kiss his cheek, or pat him on the head. At other times, 
he would entreat him — not unkindly — to be gone, and 
would not brook him near. But, whether alone, or with 
this pliant friend, or with those who would have given 
him, at any cost or sacrifice*, some consolation or some 
peace of mind, if happily the means could have been 
devised ; he was at all times the same — with no love or 
care for anything in life — a broken-hearted man. 

At length, they found, one day, that he had risen 


196 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


early, and, with his knapsack on his back, his staff in 
hand, her own straw hat, and little basket full of such 
things as she had been used to carry, was gone. As 
they were making ready to pursue him far and wide, a 
frightened school-boy came who had seen him, but a 
moment before, sitting in the church — upon her grave, 
he said. 

They hastened there, and going softly to the doer, 
espied him in the attitude of one who waited patiently. 
They did not disturb him then, but kept a watch upon 
him all that day. When it grew quite dark, he rose and 
returned home, and went to bed, murmuring to himself, 
“ She will come to-morrow ! ” 

Upon the morrow he was there again from sunrise 
until night ; and still at night he laid him down to rest, 
and murmured, “ She will come to-morrow ! ” 

And thenceforth, every day, and all day long, he 
waited at her grave, for her. How many pictures of 
new journeys over pleasant country, of resting-places 
under the free broad sky, of rambles in the fields and 
woods, and paths not often trodden — how many tones 
of that one well-remembered voice — how many glimpses 
of the form, the fluttering dress, the hair that waved so 
gayly in the wind — how many visions of what had been, 
and what he hoped was yet to be — rose up before him, 
in the old, dull, silent church ! He never told them 
what he thought, or where he went. He would sit with 
them at night, pondering with a secret satisfaction, they 
could see, upon the flight that he and she would take be- 
fore night came again ; and still they would hear him 
whisper in his prayers, “ Lord ! Let her come to- 
morrow ! ” 

The last time was on a genial day in spring. He did 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


197 


not return at the usual hour, and they went to seek him, 
He was lying dead upon the stone. 

They laid him by the side of her whom he had loved 
so well ; and, in the church where they had often prayed, 
and mused, and lingered hand in hand, the child and the 
old man slept together. 


1 93 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP 


CHAPTER THE LAST. 

The magic reel, which, rolling on before, has led the 
chronicler thus far, now slackens in its pace, and stops. 
It lies before the goal ; the pursuit is at an end. 

It remains but to dismiss the leaders of the little 
crowd who have borne us company upon the road, and 
so to close the journey. 

Foremost among them, smooth Sampson Brass and 
Sally, arm in arm, claim our polite attention. 

Mr. Sampson, then, being detained, as already has 
been shown, by the justice upon whom he called, and 
being so strongly pressed to protract his stay that he 
could by no means refuse, remained under his protection 
for a considerable time, during which the greht attention 
of his entertainer kept him so extremely close, that he 
was quite lost to society, and never even went abroad for 
exercise saving into a small paved yard. So well, in- 
deed, was his modest and retiring temper understood by 
those with whom he had to deal, ond so jealous were 
they of his absence, that they required a kind of friend- 
ly bond to be entered into by two substantial housekeep- 
ers, in the sum of fifteen hundred pounds apiece, before 
they would suffer him to quit their hospitable roof — 
doubting it appeared, that he would return, if once let 
loose, on any other terms. Mr. Brass, struck with the 
humor of this jest, and carrying out its spirit to the ut- 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


199 


most, sought from his wide connection a pair of friends 
whose joint possessions fell some halfpence short of fif- 
teen pence, and proffered them as bail — for that was 
the merry word agreed upon on both sides. These gen- 
tlemen being rejected after twenty-four hours’ pleasantry, 
Mr. Brass consented to remain, and did remain, until a 
club of choice spirits called a Grand Jury (who were in 
l he joke) summoned him to a trial before twelve other 
wags for perjury and fraud, who in their turn found him 
guilty with a most facetious joy, — nay, the very popu- 
lace entered into the whim, and when Mr. Brass was 
moving in a hackney-coach towards the building where 
these wags assembled, saluted him with rotten eggs and 
carcases of kittens, and feigned to wish to tear him into 
shreds, which greatly increased the comicality of the 
thing, and made him relish it the more, no doubt. 

To work this sportive vein still further, Mr. Brass, by 
his counsel, moved in arrest of judgment that he had 
been led to criminate himself, by assurances of safety 
and promises of pardon, and claimed the leniency which 
the law extends to such confiding natures as are thus 
leluded. After solemn argument, this point (with others 
of a technical nature, whose humorous extravagance it 
would be difficult to exaggerate) was referred to the 
judges for their decision, Sampson being meantime re- 
moved to his former quarters. Finally some of the 
points were given in Sampson’s favor, and some agains 
him ; and the upshot was, that, instead of being desired 
to travel for a time in foreign parts, he was permitted to 
grace the mother country under certain insignificant re- 
strictions. 

These were, that he should, for a term of years, reside 
in a spacious mansion where several other gentlemen 


200 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


were lodged and boarded at the public charge, who went 
clad in a sober uniform of gray turned up with yellow, 
had their hair cut extremely short, and chiefly lived on 
gruel and light soup. It was also required of him that 
he should partake of their exercise of constantly ascend- 
ng an endless flight of stairs ; and, lest his legs, unused 
/o such exertion, should be weakened by it, that he 
should wear upon one ankle an amulet or charm of iron. 
These conditions being arranged, he was removed one 
evening to his new abode, and enjoyed, in common with 
nine other gentlemen, and two ladies, the privilege of 
being taken to his place of retirement in one of Royal- 
ty's own carriages. 

Over and above these trifling penalties, his name was 
erased and blotted out from the roll of attorneys ; which 
erasure has been always held in these latter times to be 
a great degradation and reproach, and to imply the com- 
mission of some amazing villany — as indeed would 
seem to be the case, when so many worthless names re- 
main among its better records, unmolested. 

Of Sally Brass, conflicting rumors went abroad. 
Some said with confidence that she had gone down to 
the docks in male attire, and had become a female sailor ; 
others darkly whispered that she had enlisted as a private 
iti the second regiment of Foot Guards, and had been 
sesn in uniform, and on duty, to wit, leaning on her mus 
ket and looking out of a sentry-box in St. James's Park 
one evening. There were many such whispers as these 
in circulation ; but the truth appears to be that, after a 
lapse of some five years (during which there is no direct 
evidence of her having been seen at all), two wretched 
people were more than once observed to crawl at dusk 
from the inmost recesses of St. Giles’s, and to take their 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


201 


Way along the streets, with shuffling steps and cowering 
shivering forms, looking into the roads and kennels as 
they went in search of refuse food or disregarded offal. 
These forms were never beheld but in those nights of 
cold and gloom, when the terrible spectres, who lie at all 
other times in the obscene hiding-places of London, in 
archways, dark vaults and cellars, venture to creep into 
the streets ; the embodied spirits of Disease, and Vice, 
and Famine. It was whispered by those who should 
have known, that -these were Sampson and his sister 
Sally ; and to this day, it is said, they sometimes pass, 
on bad nights, in the same loathsome guise, close at the 
elbow of the shrinking passenger. 

The body of Quilp being found — though not until 
some days had elapsed — an inquest was held on it near 
the spot where it had been washed ashore. The general 
supposition was that he had committed suicide, and, this 
appearing to be favored by all the circumstances of his 
death, the verdict was to that effect. He was left to be 
buried with a stake through his heart in the centre of 
four lonely roads. 

It was rumored afterwards that this horrible and bar- 
barous ceremony had been dispensed with, and that the 
remains had been secretly given up to Tom Scott. But 
even here, opinion was divided ; for some said Tom had 
dug them up at midnight, and carried them to a place 
indicated to him by the widow. It is probable that both 
these stories may have had their origin in the simple 
fact of Tom’s shedding tears upon the inquest — which 
he certainly did, extraordinary as it may appear. He 
manifested, besides, a strong desire to assault the jury ; 
and being restrained and conducted out of court, dark- 
ened its only window by standing on his head upon the 


202 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHO*>. 


Bill, until he was dexterously tilted upon his feet again 
by a cautious beadle. 

Being cast upon the world by his master’s death, he 
determined to go through it upon his head and hands, 
and accordingly began to tumble for his bread. Find- 
ng, however, his English birth an insurmountable obsta* 
cle to his advancement in this pursuit (notwithstanding 
that his art was in high repute and favor), he assumed 
the name of an Italian image lad, with whom he had 
become acquainted ; and afterwards tumbled with extra- 
ordinary success, and to overflowing audiences. 

Little Mrs. Quilp never quite forgave herself the one 
deceit that lay so heavy on her conscience, and never 
spoke or thought of it but with bitter tears. Her hus- 
band had no relations, and she was rich. He had made 
no will, or she would probably have been poor. Hav- 
ing married the first time at her mother’s instigation, she 
consulted in her second choice nobody but herself. It 
fell upon a smart young fellow enough ; and as he made 
it a preliminary condition that Mrs. Jiniwin should be 
thenceforth an out-pensioner, they lived together after 
marriage with no more than the average amount of quar- 
relling, and led a merry life upon the dead dwarf’s 
money. 

Mr. and Mrs. Garland, and Mr. Abel, went out as 
usual (except that there was a change in their household, 
as will be seen presently), and in due time the latter went 
into partnership with his friend the notary, on which 
occasion there was a dinner, and a ball, and great extent 
:>f dissipation. Unto this ball there happened to be in- 
vited the most bashful young lady that w T as ever seen, 
with whom Mr. Abel happened to fall in love. How it 
happened, or how they found it out, or which of them 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


203 


first communicated the discovery to the other, nobody 
knows. But, certain it is that in course of time they 
were married ; and equally certain it is that they were 
the happiest of the happy ; and no less certain it is that 
they deserved to be so. And it is pleasant to write 
down that they reared a family ; because any propaga- 
tion of goodness and benevolence is no small addition to 
the aristocracy of nature, and no small subject of re- 
joicing for mankind at large. 

The pony preserved his character for independence 
and principle down to the last moment of his life ; which 
was an unusually long one, and caused him to be looked 
upon, indeed, as the very Old Parr of ponies. He often 
went to and fro with the little phaeton between Mr. Gar- 
land’s and his son’s, and, as the old people and the young 
were frequently together, had a stable of his own at the 
new establishment, into which he would walk of himself 
with surprising dignity. He condescended to play with 
the children, as they grew old enough to cultivate his 
friendship, and would run up and down the little paddock 
with them like a dog ; but though he relaxed so far, and 
allowed them such small freedoms as caresses, or even 
to look at his shoes or hang on by his tail, he never per- 
mitted any one among them to mount his back or drive 
him ; thus showing that even their familiarity must have 
its limits, and that there were points between them far 
too serious for trifling. 

He was not unsusceptible of warm attachments in his 
later life, for when the good bachelor came to live with 
Mr. Garland upon the clergyman’s decease, he conceived 
a great friendship for him, and amiably submitted to be 
driven by his hands without the least resistance. He 
did no work for tw r o or three years before he died, but 


204 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


lived in clovsr ; and his last act (like a choleric old gen- 
tleman) was to kick his doctor. 

Mr. Swiveller, recovering very slowly from his illness, 
and entering into the receipt of his annuity, bought for 
the Marchioness a handsome stock of clothes, and put 
her to school forthwith, in redemption of the vow he had 
made upon his fevered bed. After casting about for 
some time for a name which should be worthy of her, he 
decided in favor of Sophronia Sphynx, as being eupho- 
nious and genteel, and furthermore indicative of mystery. 
Under this title the Marchioness repaired, in tears, to the 
school of his selection, from which, as she soon distanced 
all competitors, she was removed before the lapse of many 
quarters to one of a higher grade. It is but bare justice 
to Mr. Swiveller to say, that, although the expenses of 
her education kept him in straitened circumstances for 
half a dozen years, he never slackened in his zeal, and 
always held himself sufficiently repaid by the accounts 
he heard (with great gravity) of her advancement, on 
his monthly visits to the governess, who looked upon him 
as a literary gentleman of eccentric habits, and of a most 
prodigious talent in quotation. 

In a word, Mr. Swiveller kept the Marchioness at this 
establishment until she was, at a moderate guess, full 
nineteen years of age — good-looking, clever, and good- 
bumored ; when he began to consider seriously what was 
to be done next. On one of his periodical visits, while 
he was revolving this question in his mind, the Mar- 
chioness came down to him, alone, looking more smiling 
and more fresh than ever. Then, it occurred to him, but 
not for the first time, that if she would marry him, how 
comfortable they might be ! So Richard asked her ; 
whatever she said, it wasn’t No ; and they were married 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


205 


in good earnest that day week, which gave Mr. Swivel- 
ler frequent occasion to remark at divers subsequent 
periods that there had been a young lady saving up for 
him after all. 

A little cottage at Hampstead being to let, which had in 
ts garden a smoking-box, the envy of the civilized world, 
they agreed to become its tenants ; and, when the honey- 
moon was over, entered upon its occupation. To this 
retreat Mr. Chuckster repaired regularly every Sunday 
to spend the day — usually beginning with breakfast — 
and here he was the great purveyor of general news and 
fashionable intelligence. For some years he continued 
a deadly foe to Kit, protesting that he had a better opin- 
ion of him when he was supposed to have stolen the five- 
pound note, than when he was shown to be perfectly free 
of the crime ; inasmuch as his guilt would have had in it 
something daring and bold, whereas his innocence was 
but another proof of a sneaking and crafty disposition. 
By slow degrees, however, he was reconciled to him in 
the end ; and even went so far as to honor him with his 
patronage, as one who had in some measure reformed, 
and was therefore to be forgiven. But he never forgot 
or pardoned that circumstance of the shilling ; holding 
that if he had come back to get another he would have 
done well enough, but that his returning to work out the 
former gift was a stain upon his moral character which 
no penitence or contrition could ever wash away. 

Mr. Swiveller, having always been in some measure 
of a philosophic and reflective turn, grew immensely con 
templative, at times, in the smoking-box, and was accus 
corned at such periods to debate in his own mind the 
mysterious question of Sophronia’s parentage. Sophro- 
nia herself supposed she was an orphan ; but Mr. Swiv- 


20b 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


eller, putting various slight circumstances together, often 
thought Miss Brass must know better than that; and, 
having heard from his wife of her strange interview with 
Quilp, entertained sundry misgivings whether that per- 
son, in his lifetime, might not also have been able to solve 
the riddle, had he chosen. These speculations, however 
gave him no uneasiness ; for Sophronia was ever a mos* 
cheerful, affectionate, and provident wife to him ; and 
Dick (excepting for an occasional outbreak with Mr. 
Chuckster, which she had the good sense rather to en- 
courage than oppose) was to her an attached and domes- 
ticated husband. And they played many hundred thou- 
sand games of cribbage together. And let it be added, 
to Dick's honor, that, though we have called her Sophro- 
nia, he called her the Marchioness from first to last ; and 
that ppon every anniversary of the day on which he 
found her in his sick room, Mr. Chuckster came to din- 
ner, and there was great glorification. 

The gamblers, Isaac List and Jowl, with their trusty 
confederate Mr. James Groves of unimpeachable mem- 
ory, pursued their course with varying success, until the 
failure of a spirited enterprise in the way of their pro- 
fession, dispersed them in different directions, and caused 
their career to receive a sudden check from the long and 
strong arm of the law. This defeat had its origin in the 
untoward detection of a new associate — young Freder- 
ick Trent — who thus became the unconscious instrumen 
of their punishment and his own. 

For the young man himself, he rioted abroad for a 
brief term, living by his wits — which means by the 
abuse of every faculty that worthily employed raises man 
above the beasts, and so degraded, sinks him far below 
them. It was not long before his body was recognized 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


207 


by a stranger, who chanced to visit that hospital in Paris 
where the drowned are laid out to be owned ; despite the 
bruises and disfigurements which were said to have been 
occasioned by some previous scuffle. But the stranger 
kept his own counsel until he returned home, and it was 
never claimed or cared for. 

The young brother, or the single gentleman, for tha 
designation is more familiar, would have drawn the poor 
school-master from his lone retreat, and made him his 
companion and friend. But the humble village teacher 
was timid of venturing into the noisy world, and had 
become fond of his dwelling in the old church-yard. 
Calmly happy in his school, and in the spot, and in the 
attachment of Her little mourner, he pursued his quiet 
course in peace ; and was, through the righteous grati- 
tude of his friend — let this brief mention suffice for 
that — a poor school-master no more. 

That friend — single gentleman, or younger brother, 
which you will — had at his heart a heavy sorrow ; but 
it bred in him no misanthropy or monastic gloom. He 
went forth into the world, a lover of his kind. For a 
long, long time, it was his chief delight to travel in the 
steps of the old man and the child (so far as he could 
trace them from her last narrative), to halt where they 
had halted, sympathize where they had suffered, and re- 
joice where they had been made glad. Those who had 
been kind to them, did not escape his search. The sis- 
ters at the school — they who were her friends, because 
themselves so friendless — Mrs. Jarley of the wax- work, 
Codlin, Short — he found them all ; and trust me, the 
man who fed the furnace fire was not forgotten. 

Kit’s story, having got abroad, raised him up a host 
of friends, and many offers of provision for his future 


208 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


life. He had no idea at first of ever quitting Mr. Gar- 
land’s sei vice ; but, after serious remonstrance and ad- 
vice from that gentleman, began to contemplate the pos- 
sibility of such a change being brought about in time. 
A good post was procured for him, with a rapidity which 
took away his breath, by some of the gentlemen who had 
believed him guilty of the offence laid to his charge, and 
who had acted upon that belief. Through the same kind 
agency, his mother was secured from want, and made 
quite happy. Thus, as Kit often said, his great misfor- 
tune turned out to be the source of all his subsequent 
prosperity. 

Did Kit live a single man all his days, or did he mar- 
ry ? Of course he married, and who should be his wife, 
but Barbara? And the best of it was, he married so 
soon that little Jacob was an uncle, before the calves of 
his legs, already mentioned in this history, had ever been 
encased in broadcloth pantaloons, — though that was not 
quite the best either, for of necessity the baby was an 
uncle too. The delight of Kit’s mother and of Barbara’s 
mother upon the great occasion is past all telling ; find- 
ing they agreed so well on that, and on all other sub- 
jects, they took up their abode together, and were a 
most harmonious pair of friends from that time forth. 
And hadn’t Astley’s cause to bless itself for their all 
going together once a quarter — to the pit — and didn’t 
Kit’s mother always say, when they painted the outside, 
that Kit’s last treat had helped to that, and wonder what 
the manager would feel if he but knew it as they passed 
his house ! 

When Kit had children six and seven years old, there 
was a Barbara among them, and a pretty Barbara she 
was. Nor was there wanting an exact fac-simile and 


THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. 


209 


copy of little Jacob as he appeared in those remote times 
when they taught him what oysters meant. Of course 
there was an Abel, own godson to the Mr. Garland of 
that name ; and there was a Dick, whom Mr. Swiveller 
did especially favor. The little group would ofter 
gather round him of a night and beg him to tell agaii 
that story of good Miss Nell who died. This, Kit would 
do ; and when they cried to hear it, wishing it .longer 
too, he would teach them how she had gone to Heaven, 
as all good people did ; and how, if they were good like 
her, they might hope to be there too, one day, and to see 
and know her as he had done when he was quite a boy. 
Then, he would relate to them how needy he used to be, 
and how she had taught him what he was otherwise too 
poor to learn, and how the old man had been used to say 
“ she always laughs at Kit ; ” at which they would brush 
away their tears, and laugh themselves to think that she 
had done so, and be again quite merry. 

He sometimes took them to the street where she had 
lived ; but new improvements had altered it so much, it 
was not like the same. The old house had been long 
ago pulled down, and a fine broad road was in its place. 
At first, he would draw with his stick a square upon the 
ground to show them where it used to stand. But, he 
soon became uncertain of the spot, and could only say it 
was thereabouts, he thought, and that these alterations 
were confusing. 

Such are the changes which a few years bring about 
and so do things pass away, like a tale that is told ! 


vol. m. 


14 


. 



REPRINTFD PIECES 




















REPRINTED PIECES. 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 

When the wind is blowing and the sleet or rain ie 
driving against the dark windows, I love to sit by the 
fire, thinking of what I have read in books of voyage 
and travel. Such books have had a strong fascination 
for my mind from my earliest childhood ; and I wonder 
it should have come to pass that I never have been round 
the world, never have been shipwrecked, ice-environed, 
tomahawked, or eaten. 

Sitting on my ruddy hearth in the twilight of New 
Year’s Eve, I find incidents of travel rise around me 
from all the latitudes and longitudes of the globe. They 
observe no order or sequence, but appear and vanish as 
they will — “come like shadows, so depart.” Columbus, 
alone upon the sea with his disaffected crew, teoks ovei 
the waste of waters from his high station on .the poop o( 
his ship, and sees the first uncertain glimmer of the light 
“ rising and falling with the waves, like a torch in the 
bark of some fisherman,” which is the shining star of a 
new world. Bruce is caged in Abyssinia, surrounded by 
the gory horrors which shall often startle him out of his 
sleep at home when years have passed away. Franklin, 


214 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


come to the end of his unhappy overland journey — 
would that it had been his last ! — lies perishing of hun- 
ger with his brave companions : each emaciated figure 
Btretched upon its miserable bed without the power to 
Hise : all, dividing the weary days between their prayers, 
their remembrances of the dear ones at home, and con- 
versation on the pleasures of eating; the last-named 
topic being ever present to them, likewise, in theii 
dreams. All the African travellers, wayworn, solitary 
and sad, submit themselves again to drunken, murderous 1 
man-selling despots, of the lowest order of humanity, 
and Mungo Park, fainting under a tree and succored by 
a woman, gratefully remembers how his Good Samaritar 
has always come to him in woman’s shape, the wid« 
world over. 

A shadow on the wall in which my mind’s eye can 
discern some traces of a rocky sea-coast, recalls to me a 
fearful story of travel derived from that unpromising 
narrator of such stories, a parliamentary blue-book. A 
convict is its chief figure, and this man escapes with 
other prisoners from a penal settlement. It is an island, 
and they seize a boat, and get to the main land. Their 
way is by a rugged and precipitous sea-shore, and they 
have no earthly hope of ultimate escape, for the party 
of soldiers, dispatched by an easier course to cut them 
off, mus^ inevitably arrive at their distant bourne long 
before them, and retake them if by any hazard they sur- 
vive the horrors of the way. Famine, as they all mus 
have foreseen, besets them early in their course. Some 
of the party die and are eaten ; some are murdered by 
the rest and eaten. This one awful creature eats his fill, 
and sustains his strength, and lives on to be recaptured 
and taken back. The unrelatable experiences through 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


215 


which he has passed have been so tremendous, that he is 
not hanged as he might be, but goes back to his old 
chained gang-work. A little time, and he tempts one 
other prisoner away, seizes another boat, and flies 
once more — necessarily in the old hopeless direction 
for \ e can take no other. He is soon cut off, and me 
by the pursuing party, face to face, upon the beach. He 
is alone. In his former journey he acquired an inap- 
peasable relish for his dreadful food. He urged the new 
man away, expressly to kill him and eat him. In the 
pockets on one side of his coarse convict-dress, are por- 
tions of the man’s body, on which he is regaling ; in the 
pockets on the other side is an untouched store of salted 
pork (stolen before he left the island) for which he has 
no appetite. He is taken back, and he is hanged. But 
I shall never see that sea-beach on the wall or in the 
fire, without him, solitary monster, eating as he prowls 
along, while the sea rages and rises at him. 

Captain Bligh (a worse man to be entrusted with ar- 
bitrary power there could scarcely be) is handed over 
the side of the Bounty, and turned adrift on the wide 
ocean in an open boat, by order of Fletcher Christian 
one of his officers, at this very minute. Another flash 
of my fire, and “ Thursday October Christian,” five-and- 
twenty years of age, son of the dead and gone Fletcher 
by a savage mother, leaps aboard His Majesty’s ship 
Briton, hove to off Pitcairn’s Island ; says his simple 
grace before eating, in good English ; and knows that a 
petty little animal on board is called a dog, because in 
his childhood he had heard of such strange creatures 
from his father and the other mutineers, grown gray 
under the shade of the Bread-fruit trees, speaking of 
their lost country far away. 


216 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


See the Halsewell, East Indiaman outward bound, 
driving madly on a January night towards the rocks 
near Seacombe, on the island of Purbeck ! The cap- 
tain’s two dear daughters are aboard, and five other la- 
dies. The ship has been driving many hours, has seven 
feet water in her hold, and her mainmast has been cu 
away. The description of her loss, familiar to me from 
my early boyhood, seems to be read aloud as she rushes 
to her destiny. 

“ About two in the morning of Friday the sixth of 
January, the ship still driving, and approaching very 
fast to the shore, Mr. Henry Meriton, the second mate, 
went again into the cuddy, where the captain then was. 
Another conversation taking place, Captain Pierce ex- 
pressed extreme anxiety for the preservation of his be- 
loved daughters, and earnestly asked the officer if lie 
could devise any method of saving them. On his an- 
swering with great concern, that he feared it would be 
impossible, but that their only chance would be to wait 
for morning, the captain lifted up his hands in silent 
and distressful ejaculation. 

“ At this dreadful moment, the ship struck, with such 
violence as to dash the heads of those standing in the 
cuddy against the deck above them, and the shock was 
accompanied by a shriek of horror that burst at one 
instant from every quarter of the ship. 

“ Many of the seamen, who had been remarkably in 
attentive and remiss in their duty during great part of 
die storm, now poured upon deck, where no exertions 
of the officers could keep them, while their assistance 
might have been useful. They had actually skulked in 
their hammocks, leaving the working of the pumps and 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


217 


other necessary labors to the officers of the ship, and the 
soldiers, who had made uncommon exertions. Roused 
by a sense of their danger, the same seamen, at this 
moment, in frantic exclamations, demanded of heaven 
and their fellow-sufferers that succor which their owr 
efforts, timely made, might possibly have procured. 

“ The ship continued to beat on the rocks ; and soon 
bilging, fell with her broadside towards the shore. When 
she struck, a number of the men climbed up the ensign- 
staff, under an apprehension of her immediately going 
to pieces. 

“ Mr. Meriton, at this crisis, offered to those unhappy 
beings the best advice which could be given ; he recom- 
mended that all should come to the side of the ship lying 
lowest on the rocks, and singly to take the opportunities 
which might then offer, of escaping to the shore. 

“ Having thus provided, to the utmost of his power, 
for the safety of the desponding crew, he returned to 
the round-house, where, by this time, all the passen- 
gers, and most of the officers had assembled. The 
latter were employed in offering consolation to the un- 
fortunate ladies ; and, with unparalleled magnanimity, 
suffering their compassion for the fair and amiable com- 
panions of their misfortunes to prevail over the sense 
of their own danger. 

“ In this charitable work of comfort, Mr. Meriton 
now joined, by assurances of his opinion, that the ship 
would hold together till the morning, when all would 
be safe. Captain Pierce, observing one of the young 
gentlemen loud in his exclamations of terror, and fre- 
quently cry that the ship was parting, cheerfully bid him 
be quiet, remarking that though the ship should go to 
pieces, he would not, but would be safe enough. 


218 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


“ It is difficult to convey a correct idea of the scene 
of this deplorable catastrophe, without describing the 
place where it happened. The Halsewell struck on the 
rocks at a part of the shore where the cliff is of vast 
height, and rises almost perpendicular from its. base. 
But at this particular spot, the foot of the cliff is ex 
cavated into a cavern of ten or twelve yards in depth, 
and of breadth equal to the length of a large ship. 
The sides of the cavern are so nearly upright, as to be 
of extremely difficult access ; and the bottom is strewed 
with sharp and uneven rocks, which seem, by some 
convulsion of the earth, to have been detached from its 
roof. 

“ The ship lay with her broadside opposite to the 
mouth of this cavern, with her whole length stretched 
almost from >side to side of it. But when she struck, 
it was too dark for the unfortunate persons on board 
to discover the real magnitude of their danger, and the 
extreme horror of such a situation. 

“ In addition to the company already in the round- 
house, they had admitted three black women and two 
soldiers’ wives ; who, with the husband of one of them, 
had been allowed to come in, though the seamen, who 
had tumultuously demanded entrance to get the lights, 
had been opposed and kept out by Mr. Rogers and Mr. 
Brirner, the third and fifth mates. The numbers there 
were, therefore, now increased to near fifty. Captain 
Pierce sat on a chair, a cot, or some other movable, with 
a daughter on each side, whom he alternately pressed to 
nis affectionate breast. The rest of the melancholy as- 
sembly were seated on the deck, which was strewed with 
musical instruments, and the wreck of furniture and 
other articles. 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


213 


“ Here also Mr. Meriton, after having cut several 
wax-candles in pieces, and stuck them up in various 
parts of the round-house, and lighted up all the glass 
lanterns he could find, took his seat, intending to wait 
the approach of dawn ; and then assist the partners of 
his dangers to escape. But, observing that the pool 
ladies appeared parched and exhausted, he brought a 
basket of oranges and prevailed on some of them to 
refresh themselves by sucking a little of the juice. At 
this time they were all tolerably composed, except Miss 
Mansel, who was in hysteric fits on the floor of the deck 
of the round-house. 

“ But on Mr. Meriton’s return to the company, he 
perceived a considerable alteration in the appearance of 
the ship ; the sides were visibly giving away ; the deck 
seemed to be lifting, and he discovered other strong in- 
dications that she could not hold much longer together. 
On this account, he attempted to go forward to look out, 
but immediately saw that the ship had separated in the 
middle, and that the forepart having changed its po- 
sition, lay rather farther out towards the sea. In such 
an emergency, when the next moment might plunge 
him into eternity, he determined to seize the present 
opportunity, and follow the example of the crew and 
the soldiers, who were now quitting the ship in num- 
bers, and making their way to the shore, though quite 
ignorant of its nature and description. 

“ Among other expedients, the ensign-staff had been 
unshipped, and attempted to be laid between the ship’s 
side and some of the rocks, but without success, for it 
snapped asunder before it reached them. However, 
by the light of a lantern, which a seaman handed 
through the sky-light of the round-house to the deck, 


220 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


Mr. Meriton discovered a spar which appeared to be 
laid from the ship’s side to the rocks, and on this spar 
he resolved to attempt his escape. 

“ Accordingly, lying down upon it, he thrust him 
self forward ; however, he soon found that it had no 
communication with the rock ; he reached the end of 
it and then slipped off, receiving a very violent bruise 
in his fall, and before he could recover his legs, he was 
washed off by the surge. He now supported himself 
by swimming, until a returning wave dashed him against 
the back part of the cavern. Here he laid hold of a 
small projection in the rock, but was so much benumb- 
ed that he was on the point of quitting it, when a sea* 
man, who had already gained a footing, extended his 
hand, and assisted him until he could secure himself a 
little on the rock ; from which he clambered on a shelf 
still higher, and out of the reach of the surf. 

“ Mr. Rogers, the third mate, remained with the cap- 
tain and the unfortunate ladies and their companions 
nearly twenty minutes after Mr. Meriton had quitted 
the ship. Soon after the latter left the round-house, 
the captain asked what was become of him, to which 
Mr. Rogers replied, that he was gone on deck to see 
what could be done. After this, a heavy sea breaking 
over the ship, the ladies exclaimed, ‘ Oh poor Meri 
ton ! he is drowned ! had he stayed with us he woul 
lave been safe ! * and they all, particularly Miss Mary 
Pierce, expressed great concern at the apprehension of 
his loss. 

“ The sea was now breaking in at the forepart of 
the ship, and reached as far as the mainmast. Captain 
Pierce gave Mr. Rogers a nod, and they took a lamp 
Mid went together into the stern-gallery, where, after 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


221 


viewing the rocks for some time, Captain Pierce asked 
Mr. Rogers if he thought there was any possibility of 
paving the girls ; to which he replied, he feared there 
was none ; for they could only discover the black face 
of the perpendicular rock, and not the cavern which 
afforded shelter to those who escaped. They then re 
turned to the round-house, where Mr. Rogers hung up 
the lamp, and Captain Pierce sat down between his 
two daughters. 

“ The sea continuing to break in very fast, Mr. Mac- 
manus, a midshipman, and Mr. Schutz, a passenger, 
asked Mr. Rogers what they could do to escape. 4 Fol- 
low me/ he replied, and they all went into the stern- 
gallery, and from thence to the upper-quarter-gallery on 
the poop. While there, a very heavy sea fell on board, 
and the round-house gave way ; Mr. Rogers heard the 
ladies shriek at intervals, as if the water reached them ; 
the noise of the sea at other times drowning their 
voices. 

“ Mr. Brimer had followed him to the poop, where 
they remained together about five minutes, when on the 
breaking of this heavy sea, they jointly seized a hen- 
coop. The same wave which proved fatal to some of 
those below, carried him and his companion to the rock, 
on which they were violently dashed and miserably 
bruised. 

u Here on the rock were twenty-seven men ; but it 
now being low water, and as they were convinced that 
on the flowing of the tide all must be washed off, many 
attempted to get to the back or the sides of the cavern, 
beyond the reach of the returning sea. Scarcely more 
than six, besides Mr. Rogers and Mr. Brimer sue* 
•eeded. 


222 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


“Mr. Rogers, on gaining this station, was so nearly 
exhausted, that had his exertions been protracted only 
a few minutes longer, he must have sunk under them. 
He was now prevented from joining Mr. Meriton, by at 
least twenty men between them, none of whom could 
nove, without the imminent peril of his life. 

“ They found that a very considerable number of the 
crew, seamen, and soldiers, and some petty officers, were 
in the same situation as themselves, though many who 
had reached the rocks below, perished in attempting to 
ascend. They could yet discern some part of the ship, 
and in their dreary station solaced themselves with the 
hopes of its remaining entire until daybreak ; for, in 
the midst of their own distress, the sufferings of the 
females on board affected them with the most poignant 
anguish ; and every sea that broke inspired them with 
terror for their safety. 

“ But, alas, their apprehensions were too soon realized ! 
Within a very few minutes of the time that Mr. Rogers 
gained the rock, an universal shriek, which long vibrated 
in their ears, in which the voice of female distress was 
lamentably distinguished, announced the dreadful catas- 
trophe. In a few moments all w T as hushed, except the 
roaring of the winds and the dashing of the waves ; the 
wreck was buried in the deep, and not an atom of it 
was ever afterwards seen.” 

The most beautiful and affecting incident I know, as- 
sociated with a shipwreck, succeeds this dismal story for 
a winter night. The Grosvenor, East Indiaman, home- 
ward bound, goes ashore on the coast of Caffraria. It 
is resolved that the officers, passengers, and crew, in 
number one hundred and thirty -five souls, shall endeavor 


THE LONG VOYAGE 


223 


to penetrate on foot, across trackless deserts, infested by 
wild beasts and cruel savages, to the Dutch settlements 
at the Cape of Good Hope. With this forlorn object 
before them, they finally separate into two parties — - 
never more to meet on earth. 

There is a solitary child among the passengers — a 
little boy of seven years old who has no relation 
there ; and when the first party is moving away he 
cries after some member of it who has been kind to 
him. The crying of a child might be supposed to be 
a little thing to men in such great extremity ; but it 
touches them, and he is immediately taken into that 
detachment. 

From which time forth, this child is sublimely made a 
sacred charge. He is pushed, on a little raft, across 
broad rivers, by the swimming sailors ; they carry him 
by turns through the deep sand and long grass (he 
patiently walking at all other times) ; they share with 
him such putrid fish as they find to eat ; they lie down 
and wait for him when the rough carpenter, who be- 
comes his especial friend, lags behind. Beset by lions 
and tigers, by savages, by thirst, by hunger, by death in 
a crowd of ghastly shapes, they never — O Father of 
all mankind, thy name be blessed for it ! — forget this 
child. The captain stops exhausted, and his faithful 
coxswain goes back and is seen to sit down by his 
side, and neither of the two shall be any more beheld 
until the great last day ; but, as the rest go on for 
their lives, they take the child with them. The car- 
penter dies of poisonous berries eaten in starvation ; 
and the steward, succeeding to the command of the 
party, succeeds to the sacred guardianship of the child. 

God knows all he does for the poor baby ; how he 


224 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


cheerfully carries him in his arms when he himself is 
weak and ill ; how he feeds him when he himself is 
griped with want ; how he folds his ragged jacket round 
him, lays his little worn face with a woman’s tenderness 
upon his sunburnt breast, soothes him in his sufferings, 
sings to him as he limps along, unmindful of his own 
parched and bleeding feet. Divided for a few days 
from the rest, they dig a grave in the sand and bury 
their good friend the cooper — these two companions 
alone in the wilderness — and then the time comes 
when they both are ill and beg their wretched part- 
ners in despair, reduced and few in number now, to 
wait by them one day. They wait by them one day, 
they wait by them two days. On the morning of the 
third, they move very softly about, in making their pre- 
parations for the resumption of their journey ; for, the 
child is sleeping by the fire, and it is agreed with one 
consent that he shall not be disturbed until the last 
moment. The moment comes, the fire is dying — and 
the child is dead. 

His faithful friend, the steward, lingers but a little 
while behind him. His grief is great, he staggers on 
for a few days, lies down in the desert, and dies. But 
he shall be reunited in his immortal spirit — who can 
doubt it! — with the child, where he and the poor car- 
penter shall be raised up with the words, “ Inasmuch as 
ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done 
it unto Me.” 

As I recall the dispersal and disappearance of nearly 
all the participators in this once famous shipwreck (a 
mere handful being recovered at last), and the legends 
that were long afterwards revived from time to time 
among the English officers at the Cape, of a white 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


225 


woman with an infant, said to have been seen weeping 
outside a savage hut far in the interior, who was whisper- 
ingly associated with the remembrance of the missing 
ladies saved from the wrecked vessel, and who was often 
sought but never found, thoughts of another kind of 
travel come into my mind. 

Thoughts of a voyager unexpectedly summoned from 
home, who travelled a vast distance, and could never re- 
turn. Thoughts of this unhappy wayfarer in the depths 
of his sorrow, in the bitterness of his anguish, in the 
helplessness of his self-reproach, in the desperation of 
his desire to set right what he had left wrong, and do 
what he had left undone. 

For, there were many many things he had neglected. 
Little matters while he was at home and surrounded by 
them, but things of mighty moment when he was at an 
immeasurable distance. There were many many bless- 
ings that he had inadequately felt, there were many 
trivial injuries that he had not forgiven, there was love 
that he had but poorly returned, there was friendship 
that he had too lightly prized ; there were a million kind 
words that he might have spoken, a million kind looks 
that he might have given, uncountable slight easy deeds 
in which he might have been most truly great and 
good. O for a day (he would exclaim), for but one 
day to make amends ! But the sun never shone upon 
that; happy day, and out of his remote captivity ho 
never came. 

Why does this traveller's fate obscure, on New Year’s 
Eve, the other histories of travellers with which my 
mind was filled but now, and cast a solemn shadow over 
me ! Must I one day make his journey ? Even so. 
Who shall say, that I may not then be tortured by such 
15 


VOL. III. 


226 


THE LONG VOYAGE. 


late regrets : that I may not then look from my exile 
on my empty place and undone work ? I stand upon 
a sea-shore, where the waves are years. They break 
and fall, and I may little heed them : but, with every 
wave the sea is rising, and I know that it will float me 
on this traveller’s voyage at last. 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


The amount of money he annually diverts from whole- 
some and useful purposes in the United Kingdom, would 
be a set-off against the Window Tax. He is one of the 
most shameless frauds and impositions of this time. In 
his idleness, his mendacity, and the immeasurable harm 
he does to the deserving, — dirtying the stream of true 
benevolence, and muddling the brains of foolish justices, 
with inability to distinguish between the base coin of 
distress, and the true currency we have always among 
us, — he is more worthy of Norfolk Island than three 
fourths of the worst characters who are sent there. 
Under any rational system, he would have been sent 
there long ago. 

I, the writer of this paper, have been, for some time, 
a chosen receiver of Begging Letters. For fourteen 
years, my house has been made as regular a Receiving 
Housg for such communications as any one of the great 
branch Post-Offices is for general correspondence. I 
ought to know something of the Begging-Letter Writer 
* He has besieged my door, at all hours of the day and 
night ; he has fought my servant ; he has lain in ambush 
for me, going out and coming in ; he has followed me out 
of town into the country ; he has appeared at provincial 
hotels, where I have been staying for only a few hours ; 
he has written to me from immense distances, when I 
have been out of England. He has fallen sick ; he ha* 


228 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


died, and been buried ; he has come to life again, and 
again departed from this transitory scene ; he has been 
his own son, his own mother, his own baby, his idiot 
brother, his uncle, his aunt, his aged grandfather. He 
has wanted a great coat, to go to India in ; a pound tc 
set him up in life forever ; a pair of boots, to take hin 
to the coast of China ; a hat, to get him into a perma 
nent situation under Government. He has frequently 
been exactly seven-and-sixpence short of independence. 
He has had such openings at Liverpool — posts of great 
trust and confidence in merchants’ houses, which nothing 
but seven-and-sixpence was wanting to him to secure — 
that I wonder he is not Mayor of that flourishing town 
at the present moment. 

The natural phenomena of which he has been the vic- 
tim, are of a most astounding nature. He has had two 
children, -who have never grown up ; who have never 
had anything to cover them at night ; who have been 
continually driving him mad, by asking in vain for food ; 
w r ho have never come out of fevers and measles (which, 
I suppose, has accounted for his fuming his letters with 
tobacco smoke, as a disinfectant) ; who have never 
changed in the least degree, through fourteen long re- 
volving years. As to his wife, what that suffering 
woman has undergone, nobody knows. She has always 
been in an interesting situation through the same long 
period, and has never been confined yet. His devotioi . 
to her has been unceasing. He has never cared for him 
self ; lie could have perished — he would rather, in short 
— but was it not his Christian duty as a man, a husband, 
and a father, to write begging letters when he looked at 
her ? (He has usually remarked that he would call in 
the evening for an answer to this question.) 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


229 


He has been the sport of the strangest misfortunes. 
What his brother has done to him would have broken 
anybody else’s heart. His brother went into business 
with him, and ran away with the money ; his brothei got 
him to be security for an immense sum, and left him tc 
pay it ; his brother would have given him employmen 
to the tune of hundreds a-year, if he would have con 
6ented to write letters on a Sunday ; his brother enunci- 
ated principles incompatible with his religious views, 
and he could not (in consequence) permit his brother to 
provide for him. His landlord has never shown a spark 
of human feeling. When he put in that execution I 
don’t know, but he has never taken it out. The broker’s 
man has grown gray in possession. They will have to 
bury him some day. 

He has been attached to every conceivable pursuit. 
He has been in the army, in the navy, in the church, in 
the law ; connected with the press, the fine arts, public 
institutions, every description and grade of business. He 
has been brought up as a gentleman ; he has been at 
every college in Oxford and Cambridge ; he can quote 
Latin in his letters (but generally misspells some minor 
English word) ; he can tell you what Shakespeare says 
about begging, better than you know it. It is to be ob- 
served, that in the midst of his afflictions he always 
reads the newspapers ; and rounds off his appeals with 
some allusion, that may be supposed to be in my way, t 
the popular subject of the hour. 

His life presents a series of inconsistencies. Some- 
times he has never written such a letter before. He 
blushes with shame. That is the first time ; that shall 
be the last. Don’t answer it, and let it be understood 
that, then, he will kill himself quietly. Sometimes (and 


230 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


more frequently) he has written a few such letters 
Then he encloses the answers, with an intimation that 
they are of inestimable value to him, and a request that 
they may be carefully returned. He is fond of enclos- 
ing something — verses, letters, pawnbrokers’ duplicates, 
anything to necessitate an answer. He is very severe 
upon u the pampered minion of fortune,” who refused 
him the half-sovereign referred to in the enclosure num- 
ber two — but he knows me better. 

He writes in a variety of styles ; sometimes in low 
spirits; sometimes quite jocosely. When he is in low 
spirits, he writes down-hill, and repeats words — these 
little indications being expressive of the perturbation of 
his mind. When he is more vivacious, he is frank with 
me ; he is quite the agreeable rattle. I know what 
human nature is, — who better ? Well ! He had a lit- 
tle money once, and he ran through it — as many men 
have done before him. He finds his old friends turn 
away from him now — many men have done that before 
him, too ! Shall he tell me why he writes to me ? Be- 
eause he has no kind of claim upon me. He puts it on 
that ground, plainly ; and begs to ask for the loan (as I 
know human nature) of two sovereigns, to be repaid 
next Tuesday six weeks, before twelve at noon. 

Sometimes, when he is sure that I have found him out, 
and that there is no chance of money, he writes to in- 
form me that I have got rid of him at last. He has en- 
listed into the Company’s service, and is off directly — 
but he wants a cheese. He is informed by the serjeant 
that it is essential to his prospects in the regiment that 
he should take out a single-Gloucester cheese, weighing 
from twelve to fifteen pounds. Eight or nine shillings 
would buy it. He does not ask for money, after what 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


231 


has passed ; but if he calls at nine to-morrow morning, 
may he hope to find a cheese ? And is there anything 
he can do to show his gratitude in Bengal ? 

Once, he wrote me rather a special letter proposing 
relief in kind. He had got into a little trouble by leav- 
ing parcels of mud done up in brown paper, at people’s 
houses, on pretence of being a Railway-Porter, in which 
character he received carriage-money. This sportive 
fancy he expiated in the House of Correction. Not 
long after his release, and on a Sunday morning, he 
called with a letter (having first dusted himself all over), 
in which he gave me to understand that, being resolved 
to earn an honest livelihood, he had been travelling 
about the country with a cart of crockery. That he 
had been doing pretty well, until the day before, when 
his horse had dropped down dead near Chatham, in 
Kent. That this had reduced him to the unpleasant 
necessity of getting into the shafts himself, and drawing 
the cart of crockery to London — a somewhat exhaust- 
ing pull of thirty miles. That he did not venture to ask 
again for money ; but that if I would have the goodness 
to leave him out a donkey , he would call for the animal 
before breakfast ! 

At another time, my friend (I am describing actual 
experiences) introduced himself as a literary gentleman 
in the last extremity of distress. He had had a play 
accepted at a certain Theatre — which was really open 
its representation was delayed by the indisposition of a 
leading actor — who was really ill ; and he and his were 
in a state of absolute starvation. If he made his neces- 
sities known to the Manager of the Theatre, he put it to 
me to say what kind of treatment he might expect ? 
Well ! we got over that difficulty to our mutual satisfao 


232 


THE BEG GIN G— LETTER WRITER. 


tion. A little while afterwards he was in some other 
strait — I think Mrs. Southcote, his wife, was in extrem- 
ity — and we adjusted that point too. A little while 
afterwards, he had taken a new house, and was going 
headlong to ruin for want of a water-butt. I had my 
misgivings about the water-butt, and did not reply to 
fnat epistle. But, a little while afterwards, I had reason 
to feel penitent for my neglect. He wrote me a few 
broken-hearted lines, informing me that the dear partner 
of his sorrows died in his arms last night at nine o’clock ! 

I dispatched a trusty messenger to comfort the be- 
reaved mourner and his poor children : but the messen- 
ger went so soon, that the play was not ready to be 
played out ; my friend was not at home, and his wife 
was in a most delightful state of health. He was taken 
up by the Mendicity Society (informally it afterwards 
appeared), and I presented myself at a London Police- 
Office with my testimony against him. The Magistrate 
was wonderfully struck by his educational acquirements, 
deeply impressed by the excellence of his letters, exceed- 
ingly sorry to see a man of his attainments there, com- 
plimented him highly on his powers of composition, and 
was quite charmed to have the agreeable duty of dis- 
charging him. A collection was made for the “ poor fel- 
low,” as he was called in the reports, and I left the court 
with a comfortable sense of being universally regarded 
as a sort of monster. Next day, comes to me a friend 
of mine, the governor of a large prison, “ Why did you 
ever go to the Police-Office against that man,” says he, 
u without coming to me first ? I know all about him and 
his frauds. He lodged in the house of one of my ward- 
ers, at the very time when he first wrote to you ; and 
then he was eating spring-lamb at eighteen-pence a 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


233 


pound, and early asparagus at I don’t know how much a 
bundle ! ” On that very same day, and in that very 
same hour, my injured gentleman wrote a solemn ad- 
dress to me, demanding to know what compensation I 
proposed to make him for his having passed the night in 
a “ loathsome dungeon.” And next morning, an Irish 
gentleman, a member of the same fraternity, who had 
read the case, and was very well persuaded I should be 
chary of going to that Police-Office again, positively re- 
fused to leave my door for less than a sovereign, and, 
resolved to besiege me into compliance, literally “sat 
down ” before it for ten mortal hours. The garrison 
being well provisioned, I remained within the walls ; and 
he raised the siege at midnight, with a prodigious alarum 
on the bell. 

The Begging-Letter Writer often has an extensive 
circle of acquaintance. Whole pages of the Court Guide 
are ready to be references for him. Noblemen and gen- 
tlemen write to say there never was such a man for 
probity and virtue. They have known him, time out 
of mind, and there is nothing they wouldn’t do for him. 
Somehow, they don’t give him that one pound ten he 
stands in need of; but perhaps it is not enough — they 
want to do more, and his modesty will not allow it. It 
is to be remarked of his trade that it is a very fascinat- 
ing one. He never leaves it ; and those who are near 
to him become smitten with a love of it, too, and sooner 
or later set up for themselves. He employs a mes 
senger — man, woman, or child. That messenger is 
certain ultimately to become an independent Begging- 
Letter Writer. His sons and daughters succeed to his 
calling, and write begging-letters when he is no more. 
He throws off the infection of begging-letter writing, 


234 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


like the contagion of disease. What Sydney Smith so 
happily called “ the dangerous luxury of dishonesty” is 
more tempting, and more catching, it would seem, in 
this instance than in any other. 

He always belongs to a Corresponding- Society of 
Begging-Letter Writers. Any one who will, may as- 
certain this fact. Give money to day, in recognition of 
a begging-letter, — no matter how unlike a common 
begging-letter, — and for the next fortnight you will 
have a rush of such communications. Steadily refuse 
to give ; and the begging-letters become Angels’ visits, 
until the Society is from some cause or other in a dull 
way of business, and may as well try you as anybody 
else. It is of little use inquiring into the Begging-Let- 
ter Writer’s circumstances. He may be sometimes ac- 
cidentally found out, as in the case already mentioned 
(though that was not the first inquiry made) ; but ap- 
parent misery is always a part of his trade, and real 
misery very often is, in the intervals of spring-lamb and 
early asparagus. It is naturally an incident of his dis- 
sipated and dishonest life. 

That the calling is a successful one, and that large 
sums of money are gained by it, must be evident to 
anybody who reads the Police Reports of such cases. 
But, prosecutions are of rare occurrence, relatively to 
the extent to which the trade is carried on. The cause 
of this, is to be found (as no one knows better than the 
Begging-Letter Writer, for it is a part of his specula- 
tion) in the aversion people feel to exhibit themselves as 
having been imposed upon, or as having weakly gratified 
their consciences with a lazy, flimsy substitute for the 
noblest of all virtues. There is a man at large, at the 
moment when this paper is preparing for the press (on 


THE BEGGING— LETTER WRITER. 


235 


the 29th of April, 1850), and never once taken up yet, 
who, within these twelvemonths, has been probably the 
most audacious and the most successful swindler that 
even this trade has ever known. There has been some- 
thing singularly base in this fellow’s proceedings : it has 
been his business to write to all sorts and conditions of 
people, in the names of persons of high reputation and 
unblemished honor, professing to be in distress — the 
general admiration and respect for whom, has ensured a 
ready and generous reply. 

Now, in the hope that the results of the real experi- 
ence of a real person may do something more to induce 
reflection on this subject than any abstract treatise — 
and with a personal knowledge of the extent to which 
the Begging-Letter Trade has been carried on for some 
time, and has been for some time constantly increasing 
— the writer of this paper entreats the attention of his 
readers to a few concluding words. His experience is a 
type of the experience of many ; some on a smaller ; 
some on an infinitely larger scale. All may judge of 
the soundness or unsoundness of his conclusions from it. 

Long doubtful of the efficacy of such assistance in any 
case whatever, and able to recall but one, within his 
whole individual knowledge, in which he had the least 
after-reason to suppose that any good was done by it, 
he was led, last autumn, into some serious considera- 
tions. The begging-letters flying about by every post, 
made it perfectly manifest, that a set of lazy vagabonds 
were interposed between the general desire to do some- 
thing to relieve the sickness and misery under which 
the poor were suffering, and the suffering poor them- 
selves. That many who sought to do some little to 
repair the social wrongs, inflicted in the way of prevent- 


236 


THE BEGGING— LETTER WRITER. 


ible sickness and death upon the poor, were strength- 
ening those wrongs, however innocently, by wasting 
money on pestilent knaves cumbering society. That 
imagination, — soberly following one of these knaves 
into his life of punishment in jail, and comparing it 
with the life of one of these poor in a cholera-stricken 
alley, or one of the children of one of these poor, 
soothed in its dying hour by the late lamented Mr. 
Drouet, — contemplated a grim farce, impossible to be 
presented very much longer before God or man. That 
the crowning miracle of all the miracles summed up 
in the New Testament, after the miracle of the blind 
seeing, and the lame walking, and the restoration of 
the dead to life, was the miracle that the poor had 
the Gospel preached to them. That while the poor 
were unnaturally and unnecessarily cut off by the thou- 
sand, in the prematurity of their age, or in the rotten- 
ness of their youth — for of flower or blossom such 
youth has none — the Gospel was not preached to 
them, saving in hollow and unmeaning voices. That 
of all wrongs, this was the first mighty wrong the 
Pestilence warned us to set right. And that no Post- 
Office Order to any amount, given to a Begging-Letter 
Writer for the quieting of an uneasy breast, would be 
presentable on the Last Great Day as anything tow- 
ards it. 

The poor never write these letters. Nothing could 
be more unlike their habits. The writers are public 
robbers ; and we who support them are parties to their 
depredations. They trade upon every circumstance with- 
in their knowledge that affects us, public or private, 
joyful or sorrowful ; they pervert the lessons of our 
lives ; they change what ought to be our strength and 


THE BEGGING-LETTER WRITER. 


237 


virtue, into weakness, and encouragement of vice. There 
is a plain remedy, and it is in our own hands. We 
must resolve, at any sacrifice of feeling, to be deaf to 
such appeals, and crush the trade. 

There are degrees in murder. Life must be held 
sacred among us in more ways than one — sacred, not 
merely from the murderous weapon, or the subtle poison, 
or the cruel blow, but sacred from preventible diseases, 
distortions, and pains. That is the first great end we 
have to set against this miserable imposition. Physical 
life respected, moral life comes next. What will not 
content a Begging-Letter Writer for a week, would 
educate a score of children for a year. Let us give 
all we can ; let us give more than ever. Let us do all 
we can ; let us do more than ever. But let us give, 
and do, with a high purpose ; not to endow the scum of 
the earth, to its own greater corruption, with the offala 
of our duty. 


A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. 


There was once a child, and he strolled about a good 
deal and thought of a number of things. He had a 
sister, who was a child too, and his constant companion. 
These two used to wonder all day long. They won- 
dered at the beauty of the flowers ; they wondered at 
the height and blueness of the sky ; they wondered at 
the depth of the bright water ; they wondered at the 
goodness and the power of God who made the lovely 
world. 

They used to say to one another, sometimes, Suppos- 
ing all the children upon earth were to die, would the 
flowers, and the water, and the sky, be sorry? They 
believed they would be sorry. For, said they, the buds 
are the children of the flowers, and the little playful 
streams that gambol down the hill-sides are the chil- 
dren of the water ; and the smallest bright specks 
playing at hide and seek in the sky all night, must 
surely be the children of the stars ; and they would all 
be grieved to see their playmates, the children of men, 
no more. 

There was one clear shining star that used to come 
out in the sky before the rest, near the church spire, 
above the graves. It was larger and more beautiful, 
they thought, than all the others, and every night they 
watched for it, standing hand in hand at a window. 


A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. 


239 


Whoever saw it first, cried out, “ I see the star ! ” And 
often they cried out both together, knowing so well when 
it would rise, and where. So they grew to be such 
friends with it, that, before lying down in their beds, 
they always looked out once again, to bid it good-night 
and when they were turning round to sleep, they used to 
say, “ God bless the star ! ” 

But while she was still very young, oh very very 
young, the sister drooped, and came to be so weak that she 
could no longer stand in the window at night ; and then 
the child looked sadly out by himself, and when he saw 
the star, turned round and said to the patient pale face 
on the bed, “ I see the star ! 99 and then a smile would 
come upon the face, and a little weak voice used to say, 
“ God bless my brother and the star ! ” 

And so the time came all too soon ! when the child 
looked out alone, and when there was no face on the 
bed; and when there was a little grave among the 
graves, not there before ; and when the star made long 
rays down towards him, as he saw it through his tears. 

Now, these rays were so bright, and they seemed to 
make such a shining way from earth to Heaven, that 
when the child went to his solitary bed, he dreamed 
about the star ; and dreamed that, lying where he was, 
he saw a train of people taken up that sparkling road 
by angels. And the star, opening, showed him a great 
world of light, where many more such angels waited to 
receive them. 

All these angels, who were waiting, turned their 
beaming eyes -upon the people who were carried up 
into the star ; and some came out from the long rows in 
which they stood, and fell upon the people’s necks, and 
kissed them tenderly, and went away with them down 


240 


A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. 


avenues of light, and were so happy in their company, 
that lying in his bed he wept for joy. 

But, there were many angels who did not go with 
them, and among them one he knew. The patient face 
that once had lain upon the bed was glorified and 
radiant, but his heart found out his sister among all 
the host. 

His sister’s angel lingered near the entrance of the 
star, and said to the leader among those who had 
brought the people thither, — 

“ Is my brother come ? ” 

And he said “ No.” 

She was turning hopefully away, when the child 
stretched out his arms, and cried “ O, sister, I am 
here ! Take me ! ” and then she turned her beaming 
eyes upon him, and it was night ; and the-star was shin- 
ing into the room, making long rays down towards him 
as he saw it through his tears. 

From that hour forth, the child looked out upon the 
star as on the home he was to go to, when his time 
should come ; and he thought that he did not belong to 
the earth alone, but to the star too, because of his sister’s 
angel gone before. 

There was a baby born to be a brother to the child ; 
and while he was so little that he never yet had spoken 
word, he stretched his tiny form out on his bed, and 
died. 

Again the child dreamed of the opened star, and of 
the company of angels, and the train of people, and the 
rows of angels with their beaming eyes all turned upon 
those people’s faces. 

Said his sister’s angel to the leader, — 

u Is my brother come ? ” 


A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. 


241 


And he said “ Not that one, but another.” 

As the child beheld his brother’s angel in her arms, 
he cried, “ O, sister, I am here ! Take me ! ” And she 
turned and smiled upon him, and the star was shining. 

He grew to be a young man, and was busy at his 
books when an old servant came to him and said, — 

“ Thy mother is no more. I bring her blessing on her 
darling son ! ” 

Again at night he saw the star, and all that former 
company. Said his sister’s angel to the leader, — 

“ Is my brother come ? ” 

And he said, “ Thy mother ! ” 

A mighty cry of joy went forth through all the star 
because the mother was reunited to her two children. 
And he stretched out his arms and cried, “ O, mother, 
sister, and brother, I am here ! Take me ! ” And they 
answered him “ Not yet,” and the star was shining. 

He grew to be a man, whose hair was turning gray, 
and he was sitting in his chair by the fireside, heavy with 
grief, and with his face bedewed with tears, when the 
star opened once again. 

Said his sister’s angel to the leader, “ Is my brother 
come ? ” 

And he said, “ Nay, but his maiden daughter.” 

And the man who had been the child saw his daugh- 
ter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those 
three, and he said “ My daughter’s head is on my sister’s 
bosom, and her arm is round my mother’s neck, and at 
her feet there is the baby of old time, and I can bear 
the parting from her, God be praised!” 

And the star was shining. 

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once 
smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow and 

16 


VOL. III. 


242 


A CHILD’S DREAM OF A STAR. 


feeble, and his back was bent. And one night as he 
lay upon his bed, his children standing round, he cried 
as he had cried so long ago, — 

“ I see the star ! ” 

They whispered one another u He is dying.” 

And he said, “ I am. My age is falling from me like 
a garment, and I move towards the star as a child. And 
O, my Father, now I thank thee that it has so often 
opened, to receive those dear ones who await me 1 ” 
And the star was shining; and it shines upon his 
grave. 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


In the Autumn-time of the year, when the great 
metropolis is so much hotter, so much noisier, so much 
more dusty or so much more water-carted, so much more 
crowded, so much more disturbing and distracting in all 
respects, than it usually is, a quiet sea-beach becomes in- 
deed a blessed spot. Half awake and half asleep, this 
idle morning in our sunny window on the edge of a chalk 
cliff in the old-fashioned watering-place to which we are 
a faithful resorter, we feel a lazy inclination to sketch its 
picture. 

The place seems to respond. Sky, sea, beach, and 
village, lie as still before us as if they were sitting for 
the picture. It is dead low-water. A ripple plays 
among the ripening corn upon the cliff, as if it were 
faintly trying from recollection to imitate the sea ; and 
the world of butterflies hovering over the crop of radish- 
seed are as restless in their little way as the gulls are in 
their larger manner when the wind blows. But the 
ocean lies winking in the sunlight like a drowsy lion — 
its glassy waters scarcely curve upon the shore — the 
fishing-boats in the tiny harbor are all stranded in the 
mud — our two colliers (our watering-place has a mari- 
time trade employing that amount of shipping) have not 
an inch of water within a quarter of a mile of them, and 
turn, exhausted, on their sides, like faint fish of an an- 


244 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


tediluvian species. Rusty cables and chains, ropes and 
rings, undermost parts of posts and piles and confused 
timber-defences against the waves, lie strewn about, in a 
brown litter of tangled sea-weed and fallen cliff which 
looks as if a family of giants had been making tea here 
for ages, and had observed an untidy custom of throwing 
their tea-leaves on the shore. 

In truth our watering-place itself has been left some- 
what high and dry by the tide of years. Concerned as 
we are for its honor, w r e must reluctantly admit that the 
time when this pretty little semi-circular sweep of houses 
tapering off at the end of the wooden pier into a point 
in the sea, was a gay place, and when the light-house 
overlooking it shone at daybreak on company dispersing 
from public balls, is but dimly traditional now. There 
is a bleak chamber in our watering-place which is yet 
called the Assembly “ Rooms,” and understood to be 
available on hire for balls or concerts ; and, some few 
seasons since, an ancient little gentleman came down and 
stayed at the hotel, who said he had danced there, in by- 
gone ages, with the Honorable Miss Peepy, well known 
to have been the Beauty of her day and the cruel occa- 
sion of innumerable duels. But he was so old and shriv- 
elled, and so very rheumatic in the legs, that it de- 
manded more imagination than our watering-place can 
usually muster, to believe him ; therefore, except the 
Master of the “Rooms” (who to this hour wears knee- 
breeches, and who confirmed the statement with tears in 
his eyes), nobody did believe in the little lame old gen- 
tleman, or even in the Honorable Miss Peepy, long de- 
ceased. 

As to subscription balls in the Assembly Rooms of 
our watering-place now red-hot cannon balls are less im- 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


245 


piobable. Sometimes, a misguided wanderer of a Ven- 
triloquist, or an Infant Phenomenon, or a Juggler, or 
somebody with an Orrery that is several stars behind 
the time, takes the place for a night, and issues bills 
with the name of his last town lined out, and the name 
of ours ignominously written in, but you may be sure 
this never happens twice to the same unfortunate person. 
On such occasions the discolored old Billiard Table that 
is seldom played at, (unless the ghost of the Honorable 
Miss Peepy plays at pool with other ghosts) is pushed 
into a corner, and benches are solemnly constituted into 
front seats, back seats, and reserved seats — which are 
much the same after you have paid — afid a few dull 
candles are lighted — wind permitting — and the per- 
former and the scanty audience play out a short match 
which shall make the other most low-spirited — which is 
usually a drawn game. After that, the performer in- 
stantly departs with maledictory expressions, and is 
never heard of more. 

But the most wonderful feature of our Assembly 
Rooms, is, that an annual sale of “ Fancy and other 
China,” is announced here with mysterious constancy 
and perseverance. Where the china comes from, where 
it goes to, why it is annually put up to auction when no- 
body ever thinks of bidding for it, how it comes to pass 
that it is always the same china, whether it would not 
have been cheaper, with the sea at hand, to have thrown 
it away, say in eighteen hundred and thirty, are standing 
enigmas. Every year the bills come out, every year the 
Master of the Rooms gets into a little pulpit on a table, 
and offers it for sale, every year nobody buys it, every 
year it is put away somewhere until next year when it 
appears again as if the whole thing were a i.ew idea. 


246 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


We have a faint remembrance of an unearthly collection 
of clocks, purporting to be the work of Parisian and 
Genevese artists — chiefly bilious-faced clocks, supported 
on sickly white crutches, with their pendulums dangling 
like lame legs — to which a similar course of events 
occurred for several years, until they seemed to lapse 
away, of mere imbecility. 

Attached to our Assembly Rooms is a library. There 
is a wheel of fortune in it, but it is rusty and dusty, and 
never turns. A large doll, with movable eyes, was put 
up to be raffled for, by five-and-twenty members at two 
shillings, seven years ago this autumn, and the list is not 
full yet. We are rather sanguine, now, that the raffle 
will come off next year. We think so, because we only 
want nine members, and should only want eight, but for 
number two having grown up since her name was en- 
tered, and withdrawn it when she was married. Down 
the street, there is a toy-ship of considerable burden, in 
the same condition. Two of the boys who were entered 
for that raffle have gone to India in real ships, since ; 
and one was shot, and died in the arms of his sister’s 
lover, by whom he sent his last words home. 

This is the library for the Minerva Press. If you 
want that kind of reading, come to our watering-place. 
The leaves of the romances, reduced to a condition very 
like curl-paper, are thickly studded with notes in pencil : 
sometimes complimentary, sometimes jocose. Some of 
these commentators, like commentators in a more ex- 
tensive way, quarrel with one another. One young 
gentleman who sarcastically writes “Oil!" after every 
sentimental passage, is pursued through his literary 
career by another, who writes “ Insulting Beast ! ” 
Miss Julia Mills has read the whole collection of these 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


247 


books. She has left marginal notes on the pages, as 
“ Is not this truly touching ? J. M.” “ How thrilling ! 

J. M.” “ Entranced here by the Magician’s potent 

spell. J. M.” She has also italicized her favorite 
traits in the description of the hero, as “ his hair, which 
was r T ark and wavy , clustered in rich profusion around 
a marble brow , whose lofty paleness bespoke the in- 
tellect within.” It reminds her of another hero. She 
adds, “ How like B. L. ! Can this be mere coincidence ? 
J. M.” 

You would hardly guess which is the main street of 
our watering-place, but you may know it by its being 
always stopped up with donkey-chaises. Whenever you 
come here, and see harnessed donkeys eating clover out 
of barrows drawn completely across a narrow thorough- 
fare, you may be quite sure you are in our High Street. 
Our Police you may know by his uniform, likewise by 
his never on any account interfering with anybody — 
especially the tramps and vagabonds. In our fancy 
shops we have a capital collection of damaged goods, 
among which the flies of countless summers “ have been 
roaming.” We are great in obsolete seals, and in faded 
pincushions, and in rickety camp-stools, and in exploded 
cutlery, and in miniature vessels, and in stunted little 
telescopes, and in objects made of shells that pretend not 
to be shells. Diminutive spades, barrows, and baskets 
are our principal articles of commerce ; but even they 
don’t look quite new somehow. They always seem to 
have been offered and refused somewhere else, before 
they came down to our watering-place. 

Yet, it must not be supposed that our watering-place 
is an empty place, deserted by all visitors except a few 
stanch persons of approved fidelity. On the oontrary, 


248 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


the chances are that if you came down here in August 
or September, you wouldn’t find a house to lay your 
head in. As to finding either house or lodging of which 
you could reduce the terms, you could scarcely engage 
in a more hopeless pursuit. For all this, you are to ob- 
serve that every season is the worst season ever known 
and that the householding population of our watering 
place are ruined regularly every autumn. They are 
like the farmers, in regard that it is surprising how much 
ruin they will bear. We have an excellent hotel — 
capital baths, warm, cold, and shower — first-rate bath- 
ing-machines — and as good butchers, bakers, and 
grocers, as heart could desire. They all do business, it 
is to be presumed, from motives of philanthropy — but it 
is quite certain that they are all being ruined. Their 
interest in strangers, and their politeness under ruin, be- 
speak their amiable nature. You would say so, if you 
only saw the baker helping a new-comer to find suitable 
apartments. 

So far from being at a discount as to company, we are 
in fact what would be popularly called rather a nobby 
place. Some tip-top “ Nobbs ” come down occasionally 
— even Dukes and Duchesses. We have known such 
carriages to blaze among the donkey-chaises, as made 
beholders wink. Attendant on these equipages come 
resplendent creatures in plush and powder, who are sure 
to be stricken disgusted with the indifferent accommoda- 
tion of our watering-place, and who, of an evening (par- 
ticularly when it rains), may be seen very much out of 
drawing, in rooms far too small for their fine figures, 
looking discontentedly out of little back windows into by- 
Btreets. The lords and ladies get on well enough and 
quite good humoredly : but if you want to see the gor- 


OUll ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


249 


geous phenomena who wait upon them, at a perfect 
nonplus, you should come and look at the resplendent 
creatures with little back parlors for servants’ halls, anH 
turn-up bedsteads to sleep in, at our watering-place 
You have no idea how they take it to heart. 

We have a pier — a queer old wooden pier, fortu 
nately without the slightest pretensions to architecture 
and very picturesque in consequence. Boats are hauled 
up upon it, ropes are coiled all over it ; lobster-pots, nets 
masts, oars, spars, sails, ballast, and rickety capstans 
make a perfect labyrinth of it. Forever hovering about 
this pier, with their hands in their pockets, or leaning 
over the rough bulwark it opposes to the sea, gazing 
through telescopes which they carry about in the same 
profound receptacles, are the boatmen of our watering- 
place. Looking at them, you would say that surely 
these must be the laziest boatmen in the world. They 
lounge about, in obstinate and inflexible pantaloons that 
are apparently made of wood, the whole season through. 
Whether talking together about the shipping in the 
Channel, or gruffly unbending over mugs of beer at the 
public-house, you would consider them the slowest of 
men. The chances are a thousand to one that you might 
stay here for ten seasons, and never see a boatman in a 
hurry. A certain expression about his loose hands, 
when they are not in his pockets, as if he were carry- 
ing a considerable lump of iron in each, without any 
inconvenience, suggests strength, but he never seems to 
use it. He has the appearance of perpetually strolling 

— running is too inappropriate a word to be thought of 

— to seed. The only subject on which he seems to feel 
any approach to enthusiasm, is pitch. He pitches every- 
thing he can lay hold of, — the pier, the palings, his boat, 


250 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLAGE. 


his house, — when there is nothing else left he turns to 
and even pitches his hat, or his rough-weather clothing. 
Do not judge him by deceitful appearances. These are 
among the bravest and most skilful mariners that exist. 
Let a gale arise and swell into a storm, let a sea run that 
might appal the stoutest heart that ever beat, let the 
Light-boat on these dangerous sands throw up a rocket 
in the night, or let them hear through the angry roar 
the signal-guns of a ship in distress, and these men 
spring up into activity so dauntless, so valiant, and he- 
roic, that the world cannot surpass it. Cavillers may 
object that they chiefly live upon the salvage of valua- 
ble cargoes. So they do, and God knows it is no great 
living that they get out of the deadly risks they run. 
But put that hope of gain aside. Let these rough fel- 
lows be asked, in any storm, who volunteers for the life- 
boat to save some perishing souls, as poor and empty- 
handed as themselves, whose lives the perfection of 
human reason does not rate at the value of a farthing 
each ; and that boat will be manned, as surely and as 
cheerfully, as if a thousand pounds were told down on 
the weather-beaten pier. For this, and for the recol- 
lection of their comrades whom we have known, whom 
the raging sea has engulfed before their children’s eyes 
in such brave efforts, whom the secret sand has buried, 
we hold the boatmen of our watering-place in our love 
and honor, and are tender of the fame they well de- 
serve. 

So many children are brought down to our watering- 
place that, when they are not out of doors, as they usu- 
ally are in fine weather, it is wonderful where they are 
put : the whole village seeming much too small to hold 
them under cover. In the afternoons, you see no end 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


25 ; 


of salt anil sandy little boots drying on upper window 
sills. At bathing-time in the morning, the little bay re- 
echoes with every shrill variety of shriek and splash — 
after which, if the weather be at all fresh, the sands teem 
with small blue mottled, legs. The sands are the child- 
ren’s great resort. They cluster there, like ants : s 
busy burying their particular friends, and making cas- 
tles with infinite labor which the next tide overthrows, 
that it is curious to consider how their play, to the 
music of the sea, foreshadows the realities of their after 
lives. 

It is curious, too, to observe a natural ease of approach 
that there seems to be between the children and the 
boatmen. They mutually make acquaintance, and take 
individual likings, without any help. You will come 
upon one of those slow heavy fellows sitting down pa- 
tiently mending a little ship for a mite of a boy, whom 
he could crush to death by throwing his lightest pair 
of trousers on him. You will be sensible of the oddest 
contrast between the smooth little creature, and the, 
rough man who seems to be carved out of hard-grained 
wood — between the delicate hand expectantly held out, 
and the immense thumb and finger that can hardly feel 
the rigging of thread they mend — between the small 
voice and the gruff growl — and yet there is a natural 
propriety in the companionship : always to be noted in 
confidence between a child and a person who has any 
merit of reality and genuineness : which is admirably 
pleasant. 

We have a preventive station at our watering-place, 
and much the same thing may be observed — - in a 
lesser degree, because of their official character — of 
the coast blockade ; a steady, trusty, well-conditioned, 


252 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


well -conducted set of men, with no misgiving about look 
ing you full in the face, and with a quiet thorough-going 
way of passing along to their duty at night, carrying 
huge sou-wester clothing in reserve, that is fraught with 
all good prepossession. They are handy fellows — neat 
about their houses — industrious at gardening — would 
get on with their wives, one thinks, in a desert island — 
and people it, too, soon. 

As to the naval officer of the station, with his hearty 
fresh face, and his blue eye that has pierced all kinds 
of weather, it warms our hearts when he comes into 
church on a Sunday, with that bright mixture of blue 
coat, buff waistcoat, black neck -kerchief, and gold epau- 
lette, that is associated in the minds of all Englishmen 
with brave, unpretending, cordial, national service. 
We like to look at him in his Sunday state ; and 
if we were First Lord (really possessing the indis- 
pensable qualification for the office of knowing nothing 
whatever about the sea), we would give him a ship 
to-morrow. 

We have a church, by the by, of course — a hideous 
temple of flint, like a great petrified haystack. Our 
chief clerical dignitary, who, to his honor, has done 
much for education both in time and money, and has 
established excellent schools, is a sound, shrewd, healthy 
gentleman, who has got into little occasional difficulties 
with the neighboring farmers, but has had a pestilent 
trick of being right. Under a new regulation, he has 
yielded the church of our watering-place to another 
clergyman. Upon the whole we get on in church well. 
We are a little bilious sometimes, about these days of 
traternization, and about nations arriving at a new and 
more unprejudiced knowledge of each other (which our 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


253 


Christianity don't quite approve), but it soon goes off, 
and then we get on very well. 

There are two dissenting chapels, besides, in our smali 
watering-place ; being in about the proportion of a hun- 
dred and twenty guns to a yacht. But the dissension 
that has torn us lately, has not been a religious one. It 
has arisen on the novel question of Gas. Our watering- 
place has been convulsed by the agitation, Gas or No 
Gas. It was never reasoned why No Gas, but there 
was a great No Gas party. Broadsides were printed 
and stuck about — a startling circumstance in our wa- 
tering-place. The No Gas party rested content with 
chalking “ No Gas ! ” and “ Down with Gas ! ” and other 
such angry war-whoops, on the few back gates and 
scraps of wall which the limits of our watering-place 
afford ; but the Gas party printed and posted bills, 
wherein they took the high ground of proclaiming 
against the No Gas party, that it was said Let there 
be light and there was light ; and that not to have 
light (that is gas light) in our watering-place, was to 
contravene the great decree. Whether by these thun- 
derbolts or not, the No Gas party were defeated ; and in 
this present season we have had our handful of shops 
illuminated for the first time. Such of the No Gas 
party, however, as have got shops, remain in opposition 
and burn tallow — exhibiting in their windows the very 
picture of the sulkiness that punishes itself, and a new 
illustration of the old adage about cutting off your nose 
to be revenged on your face, in cutting off their gas to 
be revenged on their business. 

Other population than we have indicated, our water- 
ing-place has none. There are a few old used-up boat- 
men who creep about in the sunlight with the help of 


254 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


sticks, and there is a poor imbecile shoemaker who wan* 
ders his lonely life away among the rocks, as if he were 
looking for his reason — which he will never find. So- 
journers in neighboring watering-places come occasion- 
ally in flys to stare at us, and drive away again as if 
they thought us very dull ; Italian boys come, Punch 
comes, the Fantoccini come, the Tumblers come, the 
Ethiopians come ; Glee-singers come at night, and hum 
and vibrate (not always melodiously) under our windows. 
But they all go soon, and leave us to ourselves again. 
We once had a travelling Circus and Womb well's Me- 
nagerie at the same time. They both know better than 
ever to try it again ; and the Menagerie had nearly 
razed us from the face of the earth in getting the ele- 
phant away — his caravan was so large, and the water- 
ing-place so small. We have a fine sea, wholesome for all 
people ; profitable for the body, profitable for the mind. 
The poet’s words are sometimes on its awful lips: — 

And the stately ships go on 
To their haven under the hill ; 

But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, 

And the sound of a voice that is still ! 

Break, break, break, 

At the foot of thj r crags, 0 sea ! 

But the tender grace of a day that is dead 
Will never come back to me. 

Yet it is not always so, for the speech of the sea is 
various, and wants not abundant resource of cheerfulness, 
hope, and lusty encouragement. And since I have been 
idling at the window here, the tide has risen. The 
boats are dancing on the bubbling water ; the colliers 
ire afloat again ; the white-bordered waves rush in ; the 
children 


OUR ENGLISH WATERING-PLACE. 


255 


Do chase the ebbing Neptune, and do fly him 
When he comes back ; 

the radiant sails are gliding past the shore, and shin- 
ing on the far horizon ; all the sea is sparkling, 
heaving, swelling up with life and beauty, this bright 
morning. 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE 


Haying earned, by many years of fidelity, the right 
to be sometimes inconstant to our English watering- 
place, we have dallied for two or three seasons with a 
French watering-place: once solely known to us as a 
town with a very long street, beginning with an abattoir 
and ending with a steamboat, which it seemed our fate 
to behold only at daybreak on winter mornings, when 
(in the days before continental railroads), just suffi- 
ciently awake to know that we were most uncom- 
fortably asleep, it was our destiny always to clatter 
through it, in the coupe of the diligence from Paris, 
with a sea of mud behind us, and a sea of tumbling 
waves before. In relation to which latter monster, our 
mind’s eye now recalls a worthy Frenchman in a seal- 
skin cap with a braided hood over it, once our travelling 
companion in the coup£ aforesaid, who waking up with 
a pale and crumpled visage, and looking ruefully out at 
the grim row of breakers enjoying themselves fanatically 
on an instrument of torture called “ the Bar,” inquired 
of us whether we were ever sick at sea ? Both to pre- 
pare his mind for the abject creature we were presently 
to become, and also to afford him consolation, we replied, 
“ Sir, your servant is always sick when it is possible to 
be so.” He returned, altogether uncheered by the bright 
example, “Ah, Heaven, but I am always sick, even 
when it is ^wpossible to be so.” 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


257 


The means of communication between the French 
capital and our French watering-place are wholly 
changed since those days ; but, the Channel remains 
unbridged as yet, and the old floundering and knock- 
ing about go on there. It must be confessed that saving 
in reasonable (and therefore rare) sea- weather, the act 
of arrival at our French watering-place from England 
is difficult to be achieved with dignity. Several little 
circumstances combine to render the visitor an object 
of humiliation. In the first place, the steamer no sooner 
touches the port, than all the passengers fall into captiv- 
ity : being boarded by an overpowering force of Custom- 
house officers, and marched into a gloomy dungeon. In 
the second place, the road to this dungeon is fenced off* 
with ropes breast-high, and outside those ropes all the 
English in the place who have lately been sea-sick and 
are now well, assemble in their best cloXhes to enjoy the 
degradation of their dilapidated fellow-creatures. “ Oh, 
my gracious ! how ill this one has been ! ” “ Here’s a 

damp one coming next ! ” “ Here's a pale one ! ” “ Oh ! 
A’n’t he green in the face, this next one ! ” Even we 
ourself (not deficient in natural dignity) have a lively 
remembrance of staggering up this detested lane one 
September day in a gale of wind, when we were re- 
ceived like an irresistible comic actor, with a burst of 
laughter and applause, occasioned by the extreme im- 
becility of our legs. 

We were coming to the third place. In the third 
place, the captives, being shut up in the gloomy dun- 
geon, are strained, two or three at a time, into an inner 
cell, to be examined as to passports ; and across the 
doorway of communication, stands a military creature 
making a bar of his arm. Two ideas are generally 
17 


VOL. III. 


258 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


present to the British mind during these ceremonies : 
first, that it is necessary to make for the cell with 
violent struggles, as if it were a life-boat and the dun- 
geon a ship going down ; secondly, that the military 
creature’s arm is a national affront, which the govern- 
ment at home ought instantly to “take up.” The Brit- 
ish mind and body becoming heated by these fantasies, 
delirious answers are made to inquiries, and extravagant 
actions performed. Thus Johnson persists in giving 
Johnson as his baptismal name, and substituting for 
his ancestral designation the national “ Dam ! ” Neither 
can he by any means be brought to recognize the dis- 
tinction between a portmanteau-key and a passport, but 
will obstinately persevere in tendering the one when 
asked for the other. This brings him to the fourth 
place, in a state of mere idiotcy ; and when he is, in the 
fourth place, cast out at a little door into a howling 
wilderness of touters, he becomes a lunatic with wild 
eyes and floating hair until rescued and soothed. If 
friendless and unrescued, he is generally put into a rail- 
way omnibus and taken to Paris. 

But, our French watering-place, when it is once got 
into, is a very enjoyable place. It has a varied and 
beautiful country around it, and many characteristic and 
agreeable things within it. To be sure, it might have 
fewer bad smells and less decaying refuse, and it might 
be better drained, and much cleaner in many parts, and 
therefore infinitely more healthy. Still, it is a bright, 
airy, pleasant, cheerful town ; and if you were to walk 
down either of its three well-paved main streets, towards 
five o’clock in the afternoon, when delicate odors of 
sookery fill the air, and its hotel windows (it is full of 
hotels) give glimpses of long tables set out for dinner, 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


259 


and made to look sumptuous by the aid of napkins folded 
fan -wise, you would rightly judge it to be an uncommon- 
ly good town to eat and drink in. 

We have an old walled town, rich in cool public wells 
of water, on the top of a hill within and above the pres- 
ent business-town ; and if it were some hundreds of 
miles farther from England, instead of being, on a clear 
day, within sight of the grass growing in the crevices of 
the chalk-cliffs of Dover, you would long ago have been 
bored to death about that town. It is more picturesque 
and quaint than half the innocent places which tourists, 
following their leader like sheep, have made impostors 
of. To say nothing of its houses with grave court-yards, 
its queer by-corners, and its many-windowed streets 
white and quiet in the sunlight, there is an ancient 
belfry in it that would have been in all the Annuals and 
Albums, going and gone, these hundred years, if it had 
but been more expensive to get at. Happily it has es- 
caped so well, being only in our French watering-place, 
that you may like it of your own accord in a natural 
manner, without being required to go into convulsions 
about it. We regard it as one of the later blessings of 
our life, that Bilkins, the only authority on Taste, 
never took any notice that we can find out, of our 
French watering-place. Bilkins never wrote about it, 
never pointed out anything to be seen in it, never 
measured anything it it, always left it alone. For 
which relief, Heaven bless the town and the memory 
of the immortal Bilkins likewise ! 

There is a charming walk, arched and shaded by 
trees, on the old walls that form the four sides of this 
High Town, whence you get glimpses of the streets be- 
low, and changing views of the other town and of the 


260 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


river, and of the hills and of the sea. It is made more 
agreeable and peculiar by some of the solemn houses 
that are rooted in the deep streets below, bursting into a 
fresher existence a-top, and having doors and windows, 
and even gardens, on these ramparts. A child going in 
at the court-yard gate of one of these houses, climbing 
up the many stairs, and coming out at the fourth-floor 
window, might conceive himself another Jack, alighting 
on enchanted ground from another bean-stalk. It is a 
place wonderfully populous in children ; English chil- 
dren, with governesses reading novels as they walk 
down the shady lanes of trees, or nursemaids inter- 
changing gossip on the seats ; French children with their 
smiling bonnes in snow-white caps, and themselves — if 
little boys — in straw head-gear like bee-hives, work- 
baskets and church hassocks. Three years ago, there 
were three weazen old men, one bearing a frayed red 
ribbon in his threadbare button-hole, always to be found 
walking together among these children, before dinner- 
time. If they -walked for an appetite, they doubtless 
lived en pension — were contracted for — otherwise their 
poverty would have made it a rash action. They were 
stooping, blear-eyed, dull old men, slip-shod and shabby, 
in long-skirted short-waisted coats and meagre trousers, 
and yet with a ghost of gentility hovering in their com- 
pany. They spoke little to each other, and looked as if 
they might have been politically discontented if they 
had had vitality enough. Once, we overhead red-ribbon 
feebly complain to the other two that somebody, or some- 
thing, was u a Robber ” ; and then they all three set their 
mouths so that they would have ground their teeth if 
they had had any. The ensuing winter gathered red- 
ribbon unto the great company of faded ribbons, and 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


261 


next year the remaining two were there — getting them 
selves entangled with hoops and dolls — familiar mys- 
teries to the children — probably in the eyes of most of 
them, harmless creatures who had never been like chil- 
dren, and whom children could never be like. Another 
winter came, and another old man went, and so, this 
present year, the last of the triumvirate left off walking 
— it was no good, now — and sat by himself on a little 
solitary bench, with the hoops and the dolls as lively as 
ever all about him. 

In the Place d’Armes of this town, a little decayed 
market is held, which seems to slip through the old gate- 
way, like water, and go rippling down the hill, to mingle 
with the murmuring market, in the lower town, and get 
lost in its movement and hustle. It is very agreeable on 
an idle summer morning to pursue this market-stream 
from the hill-top. It begins dozingly and dully, with a 
few sacks of corn ; starts into a surprising collection of 
boots and shoes ; goes brawling down the hill in a diver- 
sified channel of old cordage, old iron, old crockery, old 
clothes civil and military, old rags, new cotton goods, 
flaming prints of saints, little looking-glasses, and incal- 
culable lengths of tape ; dives into a backway, keeping 
out of sight for a little while, as streams will, or only 
sparkling for a moment in the shape of a market drink- 
ing-shop ; and suddenly reappears behind the great 
church, shooting itself into a bright confusion of white- 
capped women and blue-bloused men, poultry, vegetables, 
fruits, flowers, pots, pans, praying-chairs, soldiers, country 
butter, umbrellas and other sun-shades, girl-porters wait- 
ng to be hired with baskets at their backs, and one 
weazen little old man in a cocked hat, wearing a cuirass 
of drinking-glasses and carrying on his shoulder a crim- 


262 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


son temple fluttering with flags, like a glorified pavior’s 
rammer without the handle, who rings a little bell in all 
parts of the scene, and cries his cooling drink Hola, 
Hola, Ho-o-o ! in a shrill cracked voice that somehow 
makes itself heard, above all the chaffering and vending 
hum. Early in the afternoon, the whole course of the 
stream is dry. The praying-chairs are put back in the 
church, the umbrellas are folded up, the unsold goods 
are carried away, the stalls and stands disappear, the 
square is swept, the hackney-coaches lounge there to be 
hired, and on all the country roads (if you walk about, 
as much as we do) you will see the peasant women, 
always neatly and comfortably dressed, riding home, with 
the pleasantest saddle-furniture of clean milk-pails, bright 
butter-kegs, and the like, on the jolliest little donkeys in 
the world. 

We have another market in our French watering- 
place — that is to say, a few wooden hutches in the open 
street, down by the Port — devoted to fish. Our fishing- 
boats are famous everywhere; and our fishing people, 
though they love lively colors and taste is neutral (see 
Bilkins), are among the most picturesque people we ever 
encountered. They have not only a Quarter of their 
own in the town itself, but they occupy whole villages of 
their own on the neighboring cliffs. Their churches and 
chapels are their own ; they consort with one another, 
they intermarry among themselves, their customs are 
their own, and their costume is their own and never 
changes. As soon as one of their boys can walk, he is 
provided with a long bright red night-cap ; and one of 
their men would as soon think of going afloat without 
his head, as without that indispensable appendage to it. 
Then, they wear the noblest boots, with the hugest tops 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


263 


— - flapping and bulging over anyhow ; above which, they 
encase themselves in such wonderful overalls and petti- 
coat trousers, made to all appearance of tarry old sails, 
so additionally stiffened with pitch and salt, that the 
wearers have a walk of their own, and go straddling and 
swinging about, among the boats and barrels and nets 
and rigging, a sight to see. Then, their younger women, 
by dint of going down to the sea barefoot, to fling their 
baskets into the boats as they come in with the tide, and 
bespeak the first fruits of the haul with propitiatory 
promises to love and marry that dear fisherman who 
shall fill that basket like an Angel, have the finest legs 
ever carved by Nature in the brightest mahogany, and 
they walk like Juno. Their eyes, too, are so lustrous 
that their long gold ear-rings turn dull beside those bril- 
liant neighbors; and when they are dressed, what with 
these beauties, and their fine fresh faces, and their many 
petticoats — striped petticoats, red petticoats, blue petti- 
coats, always clean and smart, and never too long — and 
their home-made stockings, mulberry-colored, blue, 
brown, purple, lilac — which the older women, taking 
care of the Dutch-looking children, sit in all sorts of 
places knitting, knitting, knitting, from morning to night 
— and what with their little saucy bright blue jackets, 
knitted too, and fitting close to their handsome figures ; 
an! what with the natural grace with which they wear 
the commonest cap, or fold the commonest handkerchief 
round their luxuriant hair — we say, in a word and out 
of breath, that taking all these premises into our consid- 
eration, it has never been a matter of the least surprise 
to us that we have never once met, in the corn-fields, on 
the dusty roads, by the breezy windmills, on the plots of 
short sweet grass overhanging the sea — anywhere — a 


264 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


young fisherman and fisherwoman of our French water- 
ing-place together, but the arm of that fisherman has in- 
variably been, as a matter of course and without any 
absurd attempt to disguise so plain a necessity, round the 
neck or waist of that fisherwoman. And we have had 
no doubt whatever, standing looking at their up-hill 
streets, house rising above house, and terrace above 
terrace, and bright garments here and there lying sun- 
ning on rough stone parapets, that the pleasant mist on 
all such objects, caused by their being seen through the 
brown nets hung across on poles to dry, is, in the eyes 
of every true young fisherman, a mist of love and beau- 
ty, setting off the goddess of his heart. 

Moreover it is to be observed that these are an indus- 
trious people, and a domestic people, and an honest peo- 
ple. And though we are aware that at the bidding of 
Bilkins it is our duty to fall down and worship the Nea- 
politans, we make bold very much to prefer the fishing 
people of our French watering-place — especially since 
our last visit to Naples within these twelvemonths, when 
we found only four conditions of men remaining in the 
whole city : to wit, lazzaroni, priests, spies, and soldiers, 
and all of them beggars ; the paternal government hav- 
ing banished all its subjects except the rascals. 

But we can never henceforth separate our French 
watering-place from our own landlord of two summers, 
M. Loyal Devasseur, citizen and town-councillor. Per- 
mit us to have the pleasure of presenting M. Loyal De- 
vasseur. 

His own family name is simply Loyal ; but, as he is 
man’ied, and as in that part of France a husband always 
adds to his own name the family name of his wife, he 
writes himself Loyal Devasseur. He owns a compact 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


265 


little estate of some twenty or thirty acres on a lofty 
hill-side, and on it he has built two country-houses which 
he lets furnished. They are by many degrees the best 
houses that are so let near our French watering-place; 
we have had the honor of living in both, and can testify. 
The entrance-hall of the first we inhabited, was orna- 
mented wLh a plan of the estate, representing it as about 
twice the size of Ireland ; insomuch that when we were 
yet new to the Property (M. Loyal always speaks of it 
as 44 la propriete ”) we went three miles straight on end, 
in search of the bridge of Austerlitz — which we after- 
wards found to be immediately outside the window. The 
Chateau of the Old Guard, in another part of the 
grounds, and, according to the plan, about two leagues 
from the little dining-room, we sought in vain for a week, 
until, happening one evening to sit upon a bench in the 
forest (forest in the plan), a few yards from the house- 
door, we observed at our feet, in the ignominious circum- 
stances of being upside down and greenly rotten, the 
Old Guard himself : that is to say, the painted effigy of 
a member of that distinguished corps, seven feet high, 
and in the act of carrying arms, who had had the misfor- 
tune to be blown down in the previous winter. It will 
be perceived that M. Loyal is a stanch admirer of the 
great Napoleon. He is an old soldier himself — captain 
of the National Guard, with a handsome gold vase on his 
chimney-piece, presented to him by his company — and 
his respect for the memory of the illustrious general is 
enthusiastic. Medallions of him, portraits of him, busts 
of him, pictures of him, are thickly sprinkled all over 
the property. During the first month of our occupation, 
it was our affliction to be constantly knocking down Na- 
poleon : if we touched a shelf in a dark corner, he top 


266 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


pled over with a crash ; and every door we opened, 
shook him to the soul. Yet M. Loyal is not a man of 
mere castles in the air, or, as he would say, in Spain. 
He has a specially practical, contriving, clever, skilful 
eye and hand. His houses are delightful. He unites 
French elegance and English comfort, in a happy man- 
ner quite his own. He has an extraordinary genius for 
making tasteful little bedrooms in angles of his roofs, 
which an Englishman would as soon think of turning to 
any account, as he would think of cultivating the Desert. 
We have ourself reposed deliciously in an elegant cham- 
ber of M. Loyal’s construction, with our head as nearly 
in the kitchen chimney-pot as we can conceive it likely 
for the head of any gentleman, not by * profession a 
Sweep, to be. And, into whatsoever strange nook 
M. Loyal’s genius penetrates, it, in that nook, infalli- 
bly constructs a cupboard and a row of pegs. In 
either of our houses, we could have put away the knap- 
sacks and hung up the hats of the whole regiment of 
Guides. 

Aforetime, M. Loyal was a tradesman in the town. 
You can transact business with no present tradesman in 
the town, and give your card “ chez M. Loyal,” but 
a brighter face shines upon you directly. We doub 
if there is, ever was, or ever will be, a man so univer- 
sally pleasant in the minds of people as M. Loyal is 
in the minds of the citizens of our French watering- 
place. They rub their hands and laugh when they 
speak of him. Ah, but he is such a good child, such a 
brave boy, such a generous spirit, that Monsieur Loyal ! 
It is the honest truth. M. Loyal’s nature is the na- 
ture of a gentleman. He cultivates his ground with 
his own hands (assisted by one little laborer, who falls 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


267 


i’jto a fit now and then) ; and he digs and delves from 
morn to eve in prodigious perspirations — “ works al- 
ways,” as he says — but, C3ver him with dust, mud, 
weeds, water, any stains you will, you never can cover 
the gentleman in M. Loyal. A portly, upright, broad- 
shouldered, brown-faced man, whose soldierly bearing 
gives him the appearance of being taller than he is, 
look into the bright eye of M. Loyal, standing before 
you in his working blouse and cap, not particularly 
well shaved, and, it may be, very earthy, and you shall 
discern in M. Loyal a gentleman whose true politeness 
is in grain, and confirmation of whose word by his bond 
you would blush to think of. Not without reason is 
M. Loyal when he tells that story, in his own viva- 
cious way, of his travelling to Fulham, near London, to 
buy all these hundreds and hundreds of trees you now 
see upon the Property, then a bare, bleak hill ; and of 
his sojourning in Fulham three months; and of his jovial 
evenings with the market-gardeners ; and of the crown- 
ing banquet before his departure, when the market- 
gardeners rose as one man, clinked their glasses all 
together (as the custom at Fulham is), and cried, “ Yive 
Loyal ! ” 

M. Loyal has an agreeable wife, but no family ; and 
he loves to drill the children of his tenants, or run races 
with them, or do anything with them, or for them, that 
i3 good-natured. He is of a highly convivial tempera- 
ment, and his hospitality is unbounded. Billet a soldier 
on him, and he is delighted. Five-and-thirty soldiers 
had M. Loyal billeted on him this present summei, 
and they all got fat and red-faced in two days. It be- 
came a legend among the troops that whosoever got 
billeted on M. Loyal rolled in clover ; and so it fell 


‘268 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


out that the fortunate man who drew the billet “M. 
Loyal Devasseur” always leaped into the air, though 
in heavy marching order. M. Loyal cannot bear to 
admit anything that might seem by any implication to 
disparage the military profession. We hinted to him 
once, that we were conscious of a remote doubt arising 
in our mind, whether a sou a day for pocket-money, 
tobacco, stockings, drink, washing, and social pleasures 
in general, left a very large margin for a soldier’s en- 
joyment. Pardon ! said Monsieur Loyal, rather winc- 
ing. It was not a fortune, but — a la bonne heure — 
it was better than it used to be ! What, we asked him 
on another occasion, were all those neighboring peasants, 
each living with his family in one room, and each hav- 
ing a soldier (perhaps two) billeted on him every other 
night, required to provide for those soldiers ? “ Faith ! ” 

said M. Loyal, reluctantly ; “ a bed, monsieur, and fire 
to cook with, and a candle. And they share their 
supper with those soldiers. It is not possible that 
they could eat alone.” — “ And what allowance do 
they get for this ? ” said we. Monsieur Loyal drew 
himself up taller, took a step back, laid his hand 
upon his breast, and said, with majesty, as speaking 
for himself and all France, “ Monsieur, it is a contri- 
bution to the State!” 

It is never going to rain, according to M. Loyal. 
When it is impossible to deny that it is now raining in 
torrents, he says it will be fine — charming — magnifi- 
cent — to-morrow. It is never hot on the Property, he 
contends. Likewise it is never cold. The flowers, he 
says, come out, delighting to grow there ; it is like Par- 
adise this morning ; it is like the Garden of Eden. 
He is a little fanciful in his language ; smilingly observ- 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


269 


ing of Madame Loyal, when she is absent at vespers, 
that she is “ gone to her salvation ” — allee a son salut. 
He has a great enjoyment of tobacco, but nothing would 
induce him to continue smoking face to face with a 
lady. His short black pipe immediately goes into hia 
breast pocket, scorches his blouse, and nearly sets him 
on fire. In the Town Council and on occasions of cere- 
mony, he appears in a full suit of black, with a waist- 
coat of magnificent breadth across the chest, and a shirt- 
collar of fabulous proportions. Good M. Loyal ! Under 
blouse or waistcoat, he carries one of the gentlest hearts 
that beat in a nation teeming with gentle people. He 
has had losses, and has been at his best under them. 
Not only the loss of his way by night in the Fulham 
times — when a bad subject of an Englishman, under 
pretence of seeing him home, took him into all the night 
public-houses, drank “ arfanarf ” in every one at his 
expense, and finally fled, leaving him shipwrecked at 
Cleefeeway, which we apprehend to be Ratcliffe High- 
way — but heavier losses than that. Long ago, a family 
of children and a mother were left in one of his houses, 
without money, a whole year. M. Loyal — anything 
but as rich as we wish he had been — had not the heart 
to say “ you must go ; ” so they stayed on and stayed 
on, and paying-tenants who would have come in couldn’t 
come in, and at last they managed to get helped home 
across the water, and M. Loyal kissed the whole group, 
and said “ Adieu, my poor infants ! ” and sat down in 
their deserted salon and smoked his pipe of peace. 
— “The rent, M. Loyal?” “Eh! well! The rent!” 
M, Loyal shakes his head. “Le bon Dieu,” s«ys M. 
Loyal presently, “ will recompense me,” and he laughs 
»nd smokes his pipe of peace. May he smoke it 


270 


0(JR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


on the Property, and not be recompensed, these fifty 
years ! 

There are public amusements in our French watering- 
place, or it would not be French. They are very popu- 
lar, and very cheap. The sea-bathing - — which may 
rank as the most favored daylight entertainment, inas- 
much as the French visitors bathe all day long, and 
seldom appear to think of remaining less than an hour 
at a time in the water — is astoundingly cheap. Om- 
nibuses convey you, if you please, from a convenient 
part of the town to the beach and back again ; you 
have a clean and comfortable bathing-machine, dress, 
linen, and all appliances ; and the charge for the whole 
is half a franc, or fivepence. On the pier, there is usu- 
ally a guitar, which seems presumptuously enough to 
set its tinkling against the deep hoarseness of the sea, 
and there is always some boy or woman who sings, with- 
out any voice, little songs without any tune : the strain 
we have most frequently heard being an appeal to “ the 
sportsman ” not to bag that choicest of game, the swal- 
low. For bathing purposes, we have also a subscription 
establishment with an esplanade, where people lounge 
about with telescopes, and seem to get a good deal of 
weariness for their money ; and we have also an associa- 
tion of individual machine-proprietors combined against 
this formidable rival. M. Feroce, our own particular 
friend in the bathing line, is one of these. How he 
ever came by his name, we cannot imagine. He .is as 
gentle and polite a man as M. Loyal Devasse ir him- 
self ; immensely stout withal, and of a beaming aspect. 
M. Feroce has saved so many people from drowning, 
and has been decorated with so many medals in conse- 
quence, that his stoutness seems a special dispensation 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


271 


of Providence to enable him to wear them ; if his girth 
were the girth of an ordinary man, he could never hang 
them on, all at once. It is only on very great occasions 
that M. Feroce displays his shining honors. At other 
times they lie by, with rolls of manuscript testifying to 
the causes of their presentation, in a huge glass case 
in the red-sofa’d salon of his private residence on tho 
beach, where M. Feroce also keeps his family pictures, 
his portraits of himself as he appears both in bathing 
life and in private life, his little boats that rock by clock- 
work, and his other ornamental possessions. 

Then, we have a commodious and gay theatre — or 
had, for it is burned down now — where the opera was 
always preceded by a vaudeville, in which (as usual) 
everybody, down to the little old man with the large hat 
and the little cane and tassel, who always played either 
my Uncle or my Papa, suddenly broke out of the dia- 
logue into the mildest vocal snatches, to the great per- 
plexity of unaccustomed strangers from Great Britain, 
who never could make out when they were singing and 
when they were talking — and indeed it was pretty much 
the same. But, the caterers in the way of entertain- 
ment to whom we are most beholden, are the Society of 
Well-doing, who are active all the summer, and give the 
proceeds of their good works to the poor. Some of the 
most agreeable f6tes they contrive, are announced as 
“ Dedicated to the children ; ” and the taste with which 
they turn a small public enclosure into an elegant garden 
beautifully illuminated ; and the thorough-going hearti- 
ness and energy with which they personally direct the 
childish pleasures ; are supremely delightful. For five- 
pence a head, we have on these occasions donkey races 
with English “ Jokeis,” and other rustic sports ; lotteries 


272 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


for toys ; roundabouts, dancing on the grass to the music 
of an admirable band, fire-balloons, and fireworks. Fur- 
ther, almost every week all through the summer — never 
mind, now, on what day of the week — there is a fete 
in some adjoining village (called in that part of the 
country a Ducasse), where the people — really the people 
— dance on the green turf in the open air, round a little 
orchestra, that seems itself to dance, there is such an 
airy motion of flags and streamers all about it. And we 
do not suppose that between the Torrid Zone and the 
North Pole there are to be found male dancers with such 
astonishingly loose legs, furnished with so many joints 
in wrong places, utterly unknown to Professor Owen, as 
those who here disport themselves. Sometimes, the fete 
appertains to a particular trade ; you will see among the 
cheerful young women at the joint Ducasse of the mil- 
liners and tailors, a wholesome knowledge of the art of 
making common and cheap things uncommon and pretty, 
by good sense and good taste, that is a practical lesson 
to any rank of society in a whole island „ we could men- 
tion. The oddest feature of these agreeable scenes is the 
everlasting Roundabout (we preserve an English word 
wherever we can, as we are writing the English lan- 
guage), on the wooden horses of which machine grown- 
up people of all ages are wound round and round with 
the utmost solemnity, while the proprietor’s wife grinds 
an organ, capable of only one tune, in the centre. 

As to the boarding-houses of our French watering 
place, they are Legion, and would require a distinct 
treatise. It is not without a sentiment of national pride 
that we believe them to contain more bores from the 
shores of Albion than all the clubs in London. As you 
walk timidly in their neighborhood, the very neckcloths 


OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 


273 


and hats of your elderly compatriots cry to you from the 
stones of the streets, “ we are bores — avoid us!” We 
have never overheard at street corners such lunatic 
scraps of political and social discussion as among these 
dear countrymen of ours. They believe everything that 
is impossible and nothing that is true. They carry ru 
mors, and ask questions, and make corrections and im- 
provements on one another, staggering to the human 
intellect. And they are forever rushing into the English 
library, propounding such incomprehensible paradoxes 
to the fair mistress of that establishment, that we beg to 
recommend her to her Majesty’s gracious consideration 
as a fit object for a pension. 

The English form a considerable part of the popula- 
tion of our French watering-place, and are deservedly 
addressed and respected in many ways. Some of the 
surface-addresses to them are odd enough, as when a 
laundress puts a placard outside her house announcing 
her possession of that curious British instrument a 
“ Mingle ; ” or when a tavern-keeper provides accom- 
modation for the celebrated English game of “ Nokem- 
don.” But, to us, it is not the least pleasant feature of our 
French watering-place that a long and constant fusion 
of the two great nations there, has taught each to like 
the other, and to learn from the other, and to rise supe- 
rior to the absurd prejudices that have lingered among 
the weak and ignorant in both countries equally. 

Drumming and trumpeting of course go on forever 
in our French watering-place. Flag-flying is at a pre- 
mium, too ; but, we cheerfully avow that we consider a 
flag a very pretty object, and that we take such outward 
signs of innocent liveliness to our heart of hearts. The 
people, in the town and in the country, are a busy peo- 
18 


VOL. III. 


274 OUR FRENCH WATERING-PLACE. 

pie who work hard ; they are sober, temperate, good- 
humored, light-hearted, and generally remarkable for 
their engaging manners. Few just men, not immoder- 
ately bilious, could see them in their recreations without 
very much respecting the character that is so easily, so 
harmlessly, and so simply, pleased. 


BILL-STICKING. 


If I had an enemy whom I hated — which Heaven 
forbid ! — and if I knew of something that sat heavy on 
his conscience, I think I would introduce that something 
into a Posting Bill, and place a large impression in the 
hands of an active sticker. I can scarcely imagine a 
more terrible revenge. I should haunt him, by this 
means, night and day; I do not mean to say that I 
would publish his secret, in red letters two feet high, 
for all the town to read : I would darkly refer to it. It 
should be between him, and me, and the Posting-Bill. 
Say, for example, that, at a certain period of his life, 
my enemy had surreptitiously possessed himself of a 
key. I would then embark my capital in the lock busi- 
ness, and conduct that business on the advertising prin- 
ciple. In all my placards and advertisements, I would 
throw up the line Secret Keys. Thus,, if my enemy 
passed an uninhabited house, he would see his con- 
science glaring down on him from the parapets, and 
peeping up at him from the cellars. If he took a dead 
wall in his walk, it would be alive with reproaches. If 
he sought refuge in an omnibus, the panels thereof 
would become Belshazzar’s palace to him. If he took 
boat, in a wild endeavor to escape, he would see the 
fatal words lurking under the arches of the bridges over 
the Thames. If he walked the streets with downcast 
eyes, he would recoil from the very stones of the pave- 


276 


BILL— STICKING. 


merit, made eloquent by lampblack lithograph. If he 
drove or rode, his way would be blocked up, by enor- 
mous vans, each proclaiming the same words over and 
over again from its whole extent of surface. Until, 
having gradually growm thinner and paler, and having 
at last totally rejected food, he would miserably perish, 
and I should be revenged. This conclusion I should, 
no doubt, celebrate by laughing a hoarse laugh in three 
syllables, and folding my arms tight upon my chest 
agreeably to most of the examples of glutted animosity 
that I have had an opportunity of observing in connec- 
tion with the Drama — which, by-the-by, as involving 
a good deal of noise, appears to me to be occasionally 
confounded with the Drummer. 

The foregoing reflections presented themselves to my 
mind, the other day, as I contemplated (being newly 
come to London from the East Riding of Yorkshire, on 
a house-hunting expedition for next May), an old ware- 
house which rotting paste and rotting paper had brought 
down to the condition of an old cheese. It would have 
been impossible to say, on the most conscientious survey, 
how much of its front was brick and mortar, and how 
much decaying and decayed plaster. It was so thickly 
encrusted with fragments of bills, that no ship’s keel 
after a long voyage could be half so foul. All traces of 
the broken windows were billed out, the doors were 
billed across, the waterspout was billed over. The 
building was shored up to prevent its tumbling into the 
street ; and the very beams erected against it, were less 
wood than paste and paper, they had been so continually 
posted and reposted. The forlorn dregs of old posters so 
encumbered this wreck, that there was no hold for new 
posters, and the stickers had abandoned the place in 


BILL-STICKING. 


277 


despair, except one enterprising man who had hoisted 
the last masquerade to a clear spot near the level of the 
stack of chimneys where it waved and drooped like a 
shattered flag. Below the rusty cellar-grating, crumpled 
remnants of old bills torn down, rotted away in wasting 
heaps of fallen leaves. Here and there, some of the 
thick rind of the house had peeled off in strips, and flut- 
tered heavily down, littering the street ; but, still, below 
these rents and gashes, layers of decomposing posters 
showed themselves, as if they were interminable. I 
thought the building could never even be pulled down, 
but in one adhesive heap of rottenness and poster. As 
to getting in — I don’t believe that if the Sleeping Beauty 
and her Court had been so billed up, the young Prince 
could have done it. 

Knowing all the posters that were yet legible, inti- 
mately, and pondering on their ubiquitous nature, I was 
led into the reflections with which I began this paper, by 
considering what an awful thing it would it be, ever to 
have wronged — say M. Jullien for example — and to 
have his avenging name in characters of lire incessantly 
before my eyes. Or to have injured Madame Tussaud, 
and undergo a similar retribution. Has any man a self- 
reproachful thought associated with pills, or ointment ? 
What an avenging spirit to that man is Professor 
Holloway! Have I sinned in oil? Cabburn pur- 
sues me. Have I a dark remembrance associated with 
any gentlemanly garments, bespoke or ready made ? 
Moses and Son are on my track. Did I ever aim a 
blow at a defenceless fellow-creature’s head ? That head 
eternally being measured for a wig, or that worse head 
which was bald before it used the balsam, and hirsute 
afterwards — enforcing the benevolent moral, “ Better to 


278 


BILL-STICKING. 


be bald as a Dutch-cheese than come to this,” — undoes 
me. Have I no sore places in my mind which Mechi 
touches — which Nicoll probes — which no registered 
article whatever lacerates? Does no discordant note 
within me thrill responsive to mysterious watchwords, 
as “ Revalenta Arabica,” or “ Number One St. Paul’s 
Church-yard ” ? Then may I enjoy life, and be happy. 

Lifting up my eyes, as I was musing to this effect, I 
beheld advancing towards me (I was then on Cornhill 
near to the Royal Exchange), a solemn procession of 
three advertising vans, of first-class dimensions, each 
drawn by a very little horse. As the cavalcade ap- 
proached, I was at a loss to reconcile the careless de- 
portment of the drivers of these vehicles, with the terrific 
announcements they conducted through the city, which, 
being a summary of the contents of a Sunday newspaper, 
were of the most thrilling kind. Robbery, fire, murder, 
and the ruin of the united kingdom — each discharged 
in a line by itself, like a separate broadside of red-hot 
shot — were among the least of the warnings addressed 
to an unthinking people. Yet, the Ministers of Fate 
who drove the awful cars, leaned forward with their 
arms upon their knees in a state of extreme lassitude, 
for want of any subject of interest. The first man, 
whose hair I might naturally have expected to see 
gtanding on end, scratched his head — one of the 
smoothest I ever beheld — with profound indifference. 
The second whistled. The third yawned. 

Pausing to dwell upon this apathy, it appeared to me, 
as the fatal cars came by me, that I descried in the sec- 
ond car, through the portal in which the charioteer was 
seated, a figure stretched upon the floor. At the same 
time, I thought I smelt tobacco. The latter impression 


BILL-STICKING. 


278 


passed quickly from me ; the former remained. Curious 
to know whether this prostrate figure was the one im- 
pressible man of the whole capital who had been stricken 
insensible by the terrors revealed to him, and whose 
form had been placed in the car by the charioteer, from 
motives of humanity, I followed the procession. It 
turned into Leadenhall-market, and halted at a public- 
house. Each driver dismounted. I then distinctly 
heard, proceeding from the second car, where I had 
dimly seen the prostrate form, the words : — 

“ And a pipe ! ” 

The driver entering the public-house with his fellows, 
apparently for purposes of refreshment, I could not refrain 
from mounting on the shaft of the second vehicle, and 
looking in at the portal. I then beheld, reclining on his 
back upon the floor, on a kind of mattress or divan, a 
little man in a shooting-coat. The exclamation “ Dear 
me ! ” which irresistibly escaped my lips, caused him to 
sit upright, and survey me. I found him to be a good- 
looking little man of about fifty, with a shining face, a 
tight head, a bright eye, a moist wink, a quick speech, 
and a ready air. He had something of a sporting way 
with him. 

He looked at me, and I looked at him, until the driver 
displaced me by handing in a pint of beer, a pipe, and 
what I understand is called “ a screw ” of tobacco — an 
object which has the appearance of a curl-paper taken 
off the barmaid’s head, with the curl in it. 

u I beg your pardon,” said I, when the removed per- 
son of the driver again admitted of my presenting my 
face at the portal. “ But — excuse my curiosity, which 
T inherit from my mother — do you live here ? ” 

“ That’s good, too ! ” returned the little man, com- 


280 


BILL-STICKING. 


posedly laying aside a pipe he had smoked out, and 
filling the pipe just brought to him. 

“ Oh, you don't live here then ? ” said I. 

He shook his head, as he calmly lighted his pipe by 
means of a German tinder-box, and replied, “ This is my 
carriage. When things are flat, I take a ride sometimes, 
and enjoy myself. I am the inventor of these wans.” 

His pipe was now alight. He drank his beer all at 
once, and he smoked and he smiled at me. 

“ It was a great idea ! ” said I. 

“ Not so bad,” returned the little man, with the mod- 
esty of merit. 

“ Might I be permitted to inscribe your name upon 
the tablets of my memory ? ” I asked. 

“ There’s not much odds in the name,” returned the 
little man, “ — no name particular — I am the King of 
the Bill-Stickers.” 

“ Good gracious ! ” said I. 

The monarch informed me, with a smile, that he had 
never been crowned or installed with any public cere- 
monies, but, that he was peaceably acknowledged as 
King of the Bill-Stickers in right of being the oldest 
and most respected member of “ the old school of bill- 
sticking.” He likewise gave me to understand that 
there was a Lord Mayor of the Bill-Stickers, whose 
genius was chiefly exercised within the limits of the city. 
He made some allusion, also, to an inferior potentate, 
called “ Turkey-legs ; ” but, I did not understand that 
this gentleman was invested with much power. I rather 
inferred that he derived his title from some peculiarity 
of gait, and that it was of an honorary character. 

“ My father,” pursued the King of the Bill-Stickers, 
4 was Engineer, Beadle, and Bill-Sticker to the parish 


BILL— STICKING. 


281 


of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, in the year one thousand 
seven hundred and eighty. My father stuck bills at the 
time of the riots of London.” 

“ You must be acquainted with the. whole subject of 
bill-sticking, from that time to the- present ! ” said I. 

“ Pretty well so,” was the answer. 

“ Excuse me,” said I ; “ but I am a sort of collec- 
tor ” 

“ Not Income-tax ? ” cried His Majesty, hastily re- 
moving his pipe from his lips. 

“ No, no,” said I. 

“ Water-rate ? ” said His Majesty. 

“ No, no,” I returned. 

“ Gas ? Assessed ? Sewers ? ” said His Majesty. 

“ You misunderstand me,” I replied soothingly. “ Not 
that sort of collector at all : a collector of facts.” 

“ Oh ! if it’s only facts,” cried the King of the Bill- 
Stickers, recovering his good-humor, and banishing the 
great mistrust that had suddenly fallen upon him, “ come 
in and welcome 1 If it had been income, or winders, I 
think I should have pitched you out of the wan, upof 
my soul ! ” 

Readily complying with the invitation, I squeezed my 
self in at the small aperture. His Majesty, graciously 
handing me a little three-legged stool on which I took 
my seat in a corner, inquired if I smoked. 

“ I do ; — that is, I can,” I answered. 

“ Pipe and a screw ! ” said His Majesty to the attend 
ant charioteer. “ Do you prefer a dry smoke, or do you 
moisten it ? ” 

As unmitigated tobacco produces most disturbing ef- 
fects upon my system (indeed, if I had perfect moral 
courage, I doubt if I should smoke at all, under any cir- 


282 


BILL-STICKING. 


cumsiances), I advocated moisture, and begged the Sov 
ere'.gn of the Bill-Stickers to name his usual liquor, and 
to concede to me the privilege of paying for it. After 
some delicate reluctance on his part, we were provided, 
through the instrumentality of the attendant charioteer, 
with a can of cold rum-and-water, flavored with sugar 
and lemon. We were also furnished with a tumbler, 
and I was provided with a pipe. His Majesty, then, ob- 
serving that we might combine business with conversa- 
tion, gave the w T ord for the car to proceed ; and, to my 
great delight, we jogged away at a foot pace. 

I say to my great delight, because I am very fond of 
novelty, and it was a new sensation to be jolting through 
'ihe tumult of the city in that secluded Temple, partly 
open to the sky, surrounded by the roar without, and 
seeing nothing but the clouds. Occasionally, blows from 
whips fell heavily on the Temple’s walls, when by stop- 
ping up the road longer than usual, we irritated carters 
and coachmen to madness ; but, they fell harmless upon 
us within and disturbed not the serenity of our peaceful 
retreat. As I looked upward, I felt, I should imagine, 
like the Astronomer Royal. I was enchanted by the 
contrast between the freezing nature of our external 
mission on the blood of the populace, and the perfect 
composure reigning within those sacred precincts : where 
His Majesty, reclining easily on his left arm, smoked his 
pipe and drank his rum-and-water from his own side of 
the tumbler, which stood impartially between us. As I 
looked down from the clouds and caught his royal eye, 
he understood my reflections. “ I have an idea,” he ob- 
served, with an upward glance, “ of training scarlet run- 
ners across in the season, — making a arbor of it, — - and 
sometimes taking tea in the same, according to the song.” 


BILL-STICKING. 


283 


I nodded approval. 

16 And here you repose and think ? n said I. 

“ And think,” said he, “ of posters — * walls — and 
hoardings.” 

We were both silent, contemplating the vastness of the 
subject. I remembered a surprising fancy of dea. 
Thomas Hood’s, and wondered whether this monarch 
ever sighed to repair to the great wall of China, and 
stick bills all over it. 

u And so,” said he, rousing himself, “ it’s facts as you 
collect ? ” 

“ Facts,” said I. 

“ The facts of bill-sticking,” pursued His Majesty, in 
a benignant manner, “ as known to myself, air as follow- 
ing. When my father was Engineer, Beadle, and Bill- 
Sticker to the parish of St. Andrew’s, Holborn, he em- 
ployed women to post bills for him. He employed 
women to post bills at the time of the riots of London. 
He died at the age of seventy-five year, and was buried 
by the murdered Eliza Grimwood, over in the Waterloo- 
road.” 

As this was somewhat in the nature of a royal speech, 
I listened with deference and silently. His Majesty, 
taking a scroll from his pocket, proceeded, with great 
distinctness, to pour out the following flood of informa- 
tion : — 

“ ‘ The bills being at that period mostly proclamations 
and declarations, and which were only a demy size, the 
manner of posting the bills (as they did not use brushes) 
was by means of a piece of wood which they called a 
u dabber.” Thus things continued till such time as the 
State Lottery was passed, and then the printers began to 
print larger bills, and men were employed instead of 


284 


BILL-STICKING. 


women, as the State Lottery Commissioners then began 
to send men all over England to post bills, and would 
keep them out for six or eight months at a time, and 
they were called by the London bill-stickers “ trampers” 
their wages at the time being ten shillings per day, be- 
sides expenses. They used sometimes to be stationed in 
large towns for five or six months together, distributing 
the schemes to all the houses in the town. And then 
there were more caricature wood-block engravings for 
posting-bills than there are at the present time, the prin- 
cipal printers, at that time, of posting-bills being Messrs, 
Evans and Ruffy, of Budge-row ; Thoroughgood and 
Whiting, of the present day ; and Messrs. Gye and 
Balne, Gracechurch Street, City. The largest bills 
printed at that period were a two-sheet double crown ; 
and when they commenced printing four-sheet bills, two 
bill-stickers would work together. They had no settled 
wages per week, but had a fixed price for their work, 
and the London bill-stickers, during a lottery week, have 
been known to earn, each eight or nine pounds per week, 
till the day of drawing ; likewise the men who carried 
boards in the street used to have one pound per week, 
and the bill-stickers at that time would not allow any 
one to wilfully cover or destroy their bills, as they had a 
society amongst themselves, and very frequently dined 
together at some public-house where they used to go of 
an evening to have their work delivered out untoe , em. ,w 

All this His Majesty delivered in a gallant manner ; 
posting it, as it were, before me, in a great proclamation. 
I took advantage of the pause he now made, to inquire 
what a “ two-sheet double crown ” might express ? 

“ A two-slieet double crown,” replied the King, “ is a 
bill thirty-nine inches wide by thirty inches high.” 


BILL-STICKING. 


285 


“ Is it possible,” said I, my mind reverting to the gi- 
gantic admonitions we were then displaying to the multi- 
tude — which were as infants to some of the posting- 
bills on the rotten old warehouse — “ that some few years 
ago the largest bill was no larger than that ? ” 

u The fact,” returned the King, “ is undoubtedly so.” 
Here he instantly rushed again into the scroll. 

“ 4 Since the abolishing of the State Lottery all that 
good feeling has gone, and nothing but jealousy exists, 
through the rivalry of each other. Several bill-sticking 
companies have started, but have failed. The first party 
that started a company was twelve year ago ; but what 
was left of the old school and their dependants joined 
together and opposed them. And for some time we 
were quiet again, till a printer of Hatton Garden formed 
a company by hiring the sides of houses ; but he was 
not supported by the public, and he left his wooden 
frames fixed up for rent. The last company that started, 
took advantage of the New Police Act, and hired of 
Messrs. Grisell and Peto the hoarding of Trafalgar 
Square, and established a bill-sticking office in Cursitor- 
street, Chancery-lane, and engaged some of the new 
bill-stickers to do their work, and for a time got the half 
of all our work, and with such spirit did they carry on 
their opposition towards us, that they used to give us in 
charge before the magistrate, and get us fined ; but they 
found it so expensive, that they could not keep it up, for 
they were always employing a lot of ruffians from the 
Seven Dials to come and fight us; and on one occasion 
the old bill-stickers went to Trafalgar Square to attempt 
to post bills, when they were given in custody by the 
watchman in their employ, and fined at Queen Square 
five pounds, as they would not allow any of us to speak 


286 


BILL-STICKING. 


in the office ; but when they were gone, we had an inter* 
view with the magistrate, who mitigated the fine to fif- 
teen shillings. During the time the men were waiting 
for the fine, this company started off to a public-house 
that we were in the habit of using, and waited for us 
coming back, where a fighting-scene took place that beg- 
gars description. Shortly after this, the principal one 
day came and shook hands with us, and acknowledged 
that he had broken up the company, and that he himself 
had lost five hundred pound in trying to overthrow 
us. We then took possession of the hoarding in Tra- 
falgar Square ; but Messrs. Grisell and Peto would not 
allow us to post our bills on the said hoarding without 
paying them — and from first to last we paid upwards 
of two hundred pounds for that hoarding, and like- 
wise the hoarding of the Reform Club-house, Pall 
Mall/ ” 

His Majesty, being now completely out of breath, laid 
down his scroll (which he appeared to have finished), 
puffed at his pipe, and took some rum-and-water. I em- 
braced the opportunity of asking how many divisions the 
art and mystery of bill-sticking comprised ? He replied, 
three — auctioneers’ bill-sticking, theatrical bill-sticking, 
general bill-sticking. 

“ The auctioneers’ porters,” said the King, “ who do 
their bill-sticking, are mostly respectable and intelligent, 
and generally well paid for their work, whether in town 
or country. The price paid by the principal auctioneers 
for country work is nine shillings per day ; that is, seven 
shillings for day’s work, one shilling for lodging, and one 
for paste. Town work is five shillings a day, including 
paste.” 

“ Town work must be rather bot-work,” said I, “ if 


BILL-STICKING. 


287 


there be many of those fighting-scenes that beggar de- 
scription, among the bill-stickers ? ” 

“ Well,” replied the King, “ I a’n’t a stranger, I assure 
you, to black eyes ; a bill-sticker ought to know how to 
handle his fists a bit. As to that row I have mentioned, 
that grew out of competition, conducted in an uncompro- 
mising spirit. Besides a man in a horse-and-shay con- 
tinually following us about, the company had a watchman 
on duty, night and day, to prevent us sticking bills upon 
the hoarding in Trafalgar Square. We went there, early 
one morning, to stick bills and to black-wash their bills 
if we were interfered with. We were interfered with, 
and I gave the word for laying on the wash. It was 
laid on — pretty brisk — and we were all taken to 
Queen Square : but they couldn’t fine me. /knew that,” 
— with a bright smile — “ I’d only given directions — I 
was only the General.” 

Charmed with this monarch’s affability, I inquired if 
he had ever hired a hoarding himself. 

“ Hired a large one,” he replied, “ opposite the Ly- 
ceum Theatre, when the buildings was there. Paid 
thirty pound for it; let out places on it, and called it 
‘ The External Paper-Hanging Station.’ But it didn’t 
answer. Ah ! ” said His Majesty thoughtfully, as he 
filled the glass, “ Bill-stickers have a deal to contend 
with. The bill-sticking clause was got into the Police 
Act by a member of parliament that employed me at 
hi3 election. The clause is pretty stiff respecting 
where bills go; but he didn’t mind where his bills 
went. It was all right enough, so long as they was 
his bills ! ” 

Fearful that I observed a shadow of misanthropy on 
the King’s cheerful face, I asked whose ingenious inven- 


288 


BILL-STICKING. 


tion that was, which I greatly admired, of sticking bills 
under the arches of the bridges. 

“ Mine ! ” said His Majesty, “ I was the first that ever 
stuck a bill under a bridge ! Imitators soon rose up, of 
course. — When don’t they ? But they stuck ’em at 
low-water, and the tide came and swept the bills clean 
away. 1 knew that ! ” The King laughed. 

“ What may be the name of that instrument, like an 
immense fishing-rod,” I inquired, “ with which bills are 
posted on high places ? ” 

“ The joints,” returned His Majesty. “ Now, we use 
the joints where formerly we used ladders — as they do 
still in country places. Once,’when Madame” (Vestris, 
understood) “ was playing in Liverpool, another bill- 
sticker and me were at it together on the wall outside 
the Clarence Dock — me with the joints — him on a 
ladder. Lord ! I had my bill up, right over his head, 
yards above him, ladder and all, while he was crawling 
to his work. The people going in and out of the docks, 
stood and laughed ! — It’s about thirty years since the 
joints come in.” 

“ Are there any bill-stickers who can’t read ? ” I took 
the liberty of inquiring. 

“ Some,” said the King. “ But they know which is 
the right side up’ards of their work. They keep it as 
it’s given out to ’em. I have seen a bill or so stuck 
wrong side up’ards. But it’s very rare.” 

Our discourse sustained some interruption at this point, 
by the procession of cars occasioning a stoppage of 
about three quarters of a mile in length, as nearly as I 
sould judge. His Majesty, however, entreating me not 
to be discomposed by the contingent uproar, smoked 
with great placility, and surveyed the firmament. 


BILL-STICKING. 


289 


When we were again in motion, I begged to be in* 
formed what was the largest poster His Majesty had 
ever seen. The King replied, “ A thirty-six sheet 
poster.” I gathered, also, that there were about a 
hundred and fifty bill-stickers in London, and that 
His Majesty considered an average hand equal to the 
posting of one hundred bills (single sheets) in a day. 
The King was of opinion, that, although posters had 
much increased in size, they had not increased in num- 
ber ; as the abolition of the State Lotteries had oc- 
casioned a great falling off, especially in the country. 
Over and above which change, I bethought myself that 
the custom of advertising in newspapers had greatly 
increased. The completion of many London improve- 
ments, as Trafalgar Square (I particularly observed the 
singularity of His Majesty’s calling that an improve- 
ment), the Royal Exchange, &c., had of late years re- 
duced the number of advantageous posting-places. Bill- 
stickers at present rather confine themselves to districts, 
than to particular descriptions of work. One man would 
strike over Whitechapel, another would take round 
Houndsditch, Shoreditch, and the City Road ; one (the 
King said) would stick to the Surrey side ; another would 
make a beat of the West End. 

His Majesty remarked, with some approach to se- 
verity, on tire neglect of delicacy and taste, gradually 
introduced into the trade by the new school : a profligate 
and inferior race of impostors who took jobs at almost 
any price, to the detriment of the old school, and the 
confusion of their own misguided employers. He con- 
sidered that the trade was overdone w r ith competition, 
and observed, speaking of his subjects, “ There are too 
many of ’em.” He believed, still, that things were a 
19 


VOL. III. 


290 


BILL-STICKING. 


little better than they had been ; adducing, as a proof 
the fact that particular posting-places were now re- 
served, by common consent, for particular posters ; those 
places, however, must be regularly occupied by those 
posters, or, they lapsed and fell into other hands. It 
was of no use giving a man a Drury Lane bill this 
week and not next. Where was it to go ? He was of 
opinion that going to the expense of putting up your 
own board on which your sticker could display your owe. 
bills, w r as the only complete way of posting yourself at 
the present time ; but, even to effect this, on payment 
of a shilling a week to the keepers of steamboat piers 
and other such places, you must be able, besides, to give 
orders for theatres and public exhibitions, or you would 
be sure to be cut out by somebody. His Majesty re- 
garded the passion for orders, as one of the most inap- 
peasable appetites of human nature. If there were a 
building, or if there were repairs, going on, anywhere, 
you could generally stand something and make it right 
with the foreman of the works ; but, orders would be 
expected from you, and the man who could give the 
most orders was the man who would come off best. 
There was this other objectionable point, in orders, that 
workmen sold them for drink, and often sold them to 
persons who were likewise troubled with the weakness 
of thirst: which led (His Majesty said) to the presen- 
tation of your orders at Theatre doors, by individuals 
who were “ too shakery ” to derive intellectual profit 
from the entertainments, and who brought a scandal on 
you. Finally, His Majesty said that you could hardly 
put too little in a poster; what you wanted, was, two 
or three good catch-lines for the eye to rest on — then, 
leave it alone — and there you were ! 


BILL-STICKING. 


291 


These are the minutes of my conversation with His 
Majesty, as I noted them down shortly afterwards. 1 
am not aware that I have been betrayed into any alter- 
ation or suppression. The manner of the King was 
frank in the extreme ; and he seemed to me to avoid, 
at once that slight tendency to repetition which may 
have been observed in the conversation of His Majesty 
King George the Third, and that slight undercurrent of 
egotism which the curious observer may perhaps detect 
in the conversation of Napoleon Bonaparte. 

I must do the King the justice to say that it was I, 
and not he, who closed the dialogue. At this juncture, 
I became the subject of a remarkable optical delusion ; 
the legs of my stool appeared to me to double up ; the car 
to spin round and round with great violence ; and a mist 
to arise between myself and His Majesty. In addition 
to these sensations, I felt extremely unwell. I refer 
these unpleasant effects, either to the paste with which 
the posters were affixed to the van : which may have 
contained some small portion of arsenic ; or, to the 
printer’s ink, which may have contained some equally 
deleterious ingredient. Of this, I cannot be sure. I am 
only sure that I was not affected, either by the smoke, or 
the rum-and-water. I was assisted out of the vehicle, 
in a state of mind which I have only experienced in 
two other places — I allude to the Pier at Dover, and to 
the corresponding portion of the town of Calais — and 
sat upon a door-step until I recovered. The procession 
had then disappeared. I have since looked anxiously 
for the King in several other cars, but I have not yet 
had the happiness of seeing His Majesty. 


“ BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON. 


My name is Meek. I am, in fact, Mr. Meek. That 
son is mine and Mrs. Meek’s. When I saw the an- 
nouncement in the Times, I dropped the paper. I had 
put it in, myself, and paid for it, but it looked so noble 
that it overpowered me. 

As soon as I could compose my feelings, I took the 
paper up to Mrs. Meek’s bedside. “ Maria Jane,” said 
I (I allude to Mrs. Meek), “ you are now a public char- 
acter.” We read the review of our child, several times, 
with feelings of the strongest emotion ; and I sent the 
boy who cleans the boots and shoes, to the office for fif- 
teen copies. No reduction was made on taking that 
quantity. 

It is scarcely necessary for me to say, that our child 
had been expected. In fact, it had been expected, with 
comparative confidence, for some months. Mrs. Meek’s 
mother, who resides with us — of the name of Bigby — 
had made every preparation for its admission to our 
circle. 

I hope and believe I am a quiet man. I will go far- 
ther. I know I am a quiet man. My constitution is 
tremulous, my voice was never loud, and, in point of 
stature, I have been from infancy small. I have the 
greatest respect for Maria Jane’s Mama. She is a 
most remarkable woman. I honor Maria Jane’s Mama. 


“BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON.” 293 

In my opinion she would storm a town, single-handed, 
with a hearth-broom, and carry it. I have never known 
her to yield any point whatever, to mortal man. She is 
calculated to terrify the stoutest heart. 

Still — but I will not anticipate. 

The first intimation I had, of any preparations being 
in progress, on the part of Maria Jane’s Mama, was one 
afternoon, several months ago. I came home earlier 
than usual from the office, and, proceeding into the din- 
ing-room, found an obstruction behind the door, which 
prevented it from opening freely. It was an obstruction 
of a soft nature. On looking in, I found it to be a 
female. 

The female in question stood in the corner behind the 
door, consuming Sherry Wine. From the nutty smell 
of. that beverage pervading the apartment, I have nc 
doubt she was consuming a second glassful. She wore 
a black bonnet of large dimensions, and was copious in 
figure. The expression of her countenance was severe 
and discontented. The words to which she gave utter- 
ance on seeing me, were these, “ Oh git along with you, 
Sir, if you please ; me and Mrs. Bigby don’t want no 
male parties here ! ” 

That female was Mrs. Prodgit. 

I immediately withdrew, of course. I was rather 
hurt, but I made no remark. Whether it was that I 
showed a lowness of spirits after dinner, in consequence 
of feeling that I seemed to intrude, I cannot say. But 
Maria Jane’s Mama said to me on her retiring for the 
night : in a low distinct voice, and with a look of re- 
proach that completely subdued me : “ George Meek, 
Mrs. Prodgit is your wife’s nurse ! ” 

I bear no ill-will toward Mrs. Prodgit. Is it likely 


294 “BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON.” 

that I, writing this with tears 'in my eyes, should be 
capable of deliberate animosity towards a female, so es- 
sential to the welfare of Maria Jane ? * I am willing to 
admit that Fate may have been to blame, and not Mrs. 
Prodgit ; but, it is undeniably true, that the latter female 
brought desolation and devastation into my lowly dwell- 
ing. 

We were happy after her first appearance : we were 
sometimes exceedingly so. But, whenever the parlor 
door was opened, and “ Mrs. Prodgit ! ” announced (and 
she was very often announced), misery ensued. I could 
not bear Mrs. Prodgit’s look. I felt that I was far from 
wanted, and had no business to exist in Mrs. Prodgit’s 
presence. Between Maria Jane’s Mama, and Mrs. 
Prodgit, there was a dreadful, secret, understanding — 
a dark mystery and conspiracy, pointing me out as a 
being to be shunned. I appeared to have done some- 
thing that was evil. Whenever Mrs. Prodgit called, 
after dinner, I retired to my dressing-room — where the 
temperature is very low, indeed, in the wintry time of 
the year — and sat looking at my frosty breath as it rose 
before me, and at my rack of boots : a serviceable arti- 
cle of furniture, but never, in my opinion, an exhilarat- 
ing object. The length of the councils that were held 
with Mrs. Prodgit, under these circumstances, I will 
not attempt to describe. I will merely remark, that 
Mrs* Prodgit always consumed Sherry Wine while the 
deliberations were in progress ; that they always ended 
in Maria Jane’s being in wretched spirits on the sofa; 
and that Maria Jane’s Mama always received me, when 
1 was recalled, with a look of desolate triumph that too 
plainly said, “ Now , George Meek ! You see my child, 
Maria Jane, a ruin, and I hope you are satisfied ! ” 


BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON.’ 


295 


I pass, generally, over the period that intervened be- 
tween the day when Mrs. Prodgit entered her protest 
against male parties, and the ever-memorable midnight 
when I brought her to my unobtrusive home in a cab, 
with an extremely large box on the roof, and a bundle, 
a bandbox, and a basket, between the driver’s legs. I 
have no objection to Mrs. Prodgit (aided and abetted by 
Mrs. Bigby, who I never can forget is the parent of 
Maria Jane) taking entire possession of my unassuming 
establishment. In the recesses of my own breast, the 
thought may linger that a man in possession cannot be 
so dreadful as a woman, and that woman Mrs. Prodgit ; 
but, I ought to bear a good deal, and I hope I can, and 
do. Huffing and snubbing, prey upon my feelings ; but, 
I can bear them without complaint. They may tell in 
the long run ; I may be hustled about, from post to pil- 
lar, beyond my strength ; nevertheless, I wish to avoid 
giving rise to words in the family. 

The voice of Nature, however, cries aloud in behalf 
of Augustus George, my infant son. It is for him that I 
wish to utter a few plaintive household words. I am not 
at all angry ; I am mild — but miserable. 

I wish to know why, when my child, Augustus George, 
was expected in our circle, a provision of pins was made, 
as if the little stranger were a criminal who was to be 
put to the torture immediately on his arrival, instead of 
a holy babe ? I wish to know why haste was made t 
stick those pins all over his innocent form, in ever} 
direction ? I wish to be informed why light and air. are 
excluded from Augustus George, like poisons ? Why, I 
ask, is my unoffending infant so hedged into a basket- 
bedstead, with dimity and calico, with miniature sheets 
and blankets, that I can only hear him snuffle (and no 


296 


‘BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON”. 


wonder l) deep down under the pink hood of a little 
bathing-machine, and can never peruse even so much of 
his lineaments as his nose. 

Was I expected to be the father of a French Roll, that 
the brushes of All Nations were laid in, to rasp Augustus 
George ? Am I to be told that his sensitive skin was 
ver intended by Nature to have rashes brought out 
upon it, by the premature and incessant use of those 
formidable little instruments ? 

Is my son a Nutmeg, that he is to be grated on the 
stiff edges of sharp frills ? Am I the parent of a Mus- 
lin boy, that his yielding surface is to be crimped and 
small-plaited ? Or is my child composed of Paper or 
of Linen, that impressions of the finer getting-up art, 
practised by the laundress, are to be printed off, all over 
his soft arms and legs, as I constantly observe them? 
The starch enters his soul ; who can wonder that he 
cries ? 

Was Augustus George intended to have limbs, or to be 
born a Torso ? I presume that limbs were the intention, 
as they are the usual practice. Then, why are my poor 
child’s limbs fettered and tied up ? Am I to be told that 
there is any analogy between Augustus George Meek 
and Jack Sheppard ? 

Analyze Castor Oil at any Institution of Chemistry 
that may be agreed upon, and inform me what resem- 
blance, in taste, it bears to that natural provision which 
t is at once the pride and duty of Maria Jane, to ad- 
minister to Augustus George ! Yet, I charge Mrs. 
Prodgit (aided and abetted by Mrs. Bigby) with sys- 
tematically forcing Castor Oil on my innocent son, from 
the first hour of his birth. When that medicine, in its 
efficient action, causes internal disturbance to Augustus 


“BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON.” 297 

George, I charge Mrs. Prodgit (aided and abetted by 
Mrs. Bigby) with insanely and inconsistently adminis- 
tering opium to allay the storm she has raised ! What 
is the meaning of this ? 

If the days of Egyptian Mummies are past, how dare 
Mrs. Prodgit require, for the use of my son, an amount 
of flannel and linen that would carpet my humble roof? 
Do I wonder that she requires it ? No ! This morning, 
within an hour, I beheld this agonizing sight. I beheld 
my son — Augustus George — in Mrs. Prodgit’s hands, 
and on Mrs. Prodgit’s knee, being dressed. He was at 
the moment, comparatively speaking, in a state of na- 
ture ; having nothing on, but an extremely short shirt, 
remarkably disproportionate to the length of his usual 
outer garments. Trailing from Mrs. Prodgit’s lap, on 
the floor, was a long narrow roller or bandage — I should 
say of several yards in extent. In this, I saw Mrs. 
Prodgit tightly roll the body of my unoffending infant, 
turning him over and over, now presenting his uncon- 
scious face upwards, now the back of his bald head, 
until the unnatural feat was accomplished, and the band- 
age secured by a pin, which I have every reason to be- 
lieve entered the body of my only child. In this tourni- 
quet, he passes the present phase of his existence. Can 
I know it, and smile l 

I fear I have been betrayed into expressing myself 
warmly, but I feel deeply. Not for myself ; for Augus- 
tus George. I dare not interfere. Will any one ? Will 
any publication ? Any doctor ? Any parent ? Any- 
body ? I do not complain that Mrs. Prodgit (aided and 
abetted by Mrs. Bigby) entirely alienates Maria Jane’s 
affections from me, and interposes an impassable barrier 
between us. 1 do not complain of being made of no 


298 


“BIRTHS. MRS. MEEK, OF A SON . 5 


account. I do not want to be of any account. But, 
Augustus George is a production of Nature (I cannot 
think otherwise), and I claim that he should be treated 
with some remote reference to Nature. In my opinion, 
Mrs. Prodgit is, from first to last, a convention and a 
superstition. Are all the faculty afraid of Mrs. Prodgit ? 
If not, why don’t they take her in hand and impro\e 
her ? 

P. S. Maria Jane’s Mama boasts of her own knowl- 
edge of the subject, and says she brought up seven chil- 
dren besides Maria Jane. But how do I know that she 
might not have brought them up much better? Maria 
Jane herself is far from strong, and is subject to head- 
aches, and nervous indigestion. Besides which, I learn 
from the statistical tables that one child in five dies 
within the first year of its life ; and one child in three, 
within the fifth. That don’t look as if we could never 
improve in these particulars, I think ! 

P. P. S. Augustus George is in convulsions. 


THE END, 
































« 





















?68 











SKETCHES BY BOZ 


ILLUSTRATIVE OP 

EVERY-DAY LIFE AND EVERY-DAY PEOPLE, 


VOLUME I. 








' 




PREFACE. 


The whole of these Sketches were written and pub- 
lished, one by one, when I was a very young man. 
They were collected and republished while I was still 
a very young man ; and sent into the world with all 
their imperfections (a good many) on their heads. 

They comprise my first attempts at authorship — 
with the exception of certain tragedies achieved at the 
mature age of eight or ten, and represented with great 
applause to overflowing nurseries. I am conscious of 
their often being extremely crude and ill-considered, 
and bearing obvious marks of haste and inexperience ; 
particularly in that section of the present volume 
which is comprised under the general head of Tales. 

But as this collection is not originated now, and 
was very leniently and favorably received when it was 
first made, I have not felt it right either to remodel 
or expunge, beyond a few words and phrases here and 
there. 


ih. • 

• . - . . ! ’ ' ‘ ' r 

... . ; ' .. v a h ■ ■■ ' 


SKETCHES BY BOZ 


OUR PARISH. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE BEADLE THE PARISH ENGINE. THE SCHOOL- 
MASTER. 

How much is conveyed in those two short words — • 
* The Parish ! ” And with how many tales of distress 
and misery, of broken fortune and ruined hopes, too often 
of unrelieved wretchedness and successful knavery, are 
they associated ! A poor man with small earnings, and 
a large family, just manages to live on from hand to 
mouth, and to procure food from day to day ; he has 
barely sufficient to satisfy the present cravings of nature, 
and can take no heed of the future. His taxes are in 
arrear, quarter day passes by, another quarter day ar- 
rives : he can procure no more quarter for himself, and 
is summoned by — the parish. His goods are distrained, 
his children are crying with cold and hunger, and the 
very bed on which his sick wife is lying, is dragged from 
beneath her. What can he do ? To whom is he to 
apply for relief? To private charity? To benevolent 
individuals ? Certainly not — there is his parish. There 
are the parish vestry, the parish infirmary, the parish 
surgeon, the parish officers, the parish beadle. Excellent 


12 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


institutions, and gentle, kind-hearted men. The woman 
dies — she is buried by the parish. The children have 
no protector — they are taken care of by the parish. The 
man first neglects, and afterwards cannot obtain, work 
— he is relieved by the parish ; and when distress and 
drunkenness have done their work upon him, he is main- 
tained, a harmless babbling idiot, in the parish asylum. 

The parish beadle is one of the most, perhaps the 
most, important member of the local administration. He 
is not so well off as the churchwardens, certainly, nor is 
he so learned as the vestry-clerk, nor does he order 
things quite so much his own way as either of them. 
But his power is very great, notwithstanding ; and the 
dignity of his office is never impaired by the absence of 
efforts on his part to maintain it. The beadle of our 
parish is a splendid fellow. It is quite delightful to hear 
him, as he explains the state of the existing poor laws to 
the deaf old women in the board-room-passage on busi- 
ness nights ; and to hear what he said to the senior 
churchwarden, and what the senior churchwarden said to 
him ; and what “ we ” (the beadle and the other gentle- 
men) came to the determination of doing. A miserable- 
looking woman is called into the board-room, and repre- 
sents a case of extreme destitution, affecting herself — a 
widow, with six small children. “ Where do you live ?” 
inquires one of the overseers. “ I rents a two-pair back, 
gentlemen, at Mrs. Brown’s, Number 3, Little King Wil- 
liam’s Alley, which has lived there this fifteen year, and 
knows me to be very hard-working and industrious, and 
when my poor husband was alive, gentlemen, as died in 
the hospital” — “Well, well,” interrupts the overseer, 
taking a note of the address, “ I’ll send Simmons, the 
beadle, to-morrow morning, to ascertain whether your 


THE BEADLE. 


13 


story is correct ; and if so, I suppose you must have an 
order into the House — Simmons, go to this woman’s the 
first thing to-morrow morning, will you ? ” Simmons 
bows assent, and ushers the woman out. Her previous 
admiration of “ the board ” (who all sit behind great 
books, and with their hats on) fades into nothing before 
her respect for her lace-trimmed conductor ; and her ac- 
count of what has passed inside, increases — if that be 
possible — the marks of respect, shown by the assembled 
crowd, to that solemn functionary. As to taking out a 
summons, it’s quite a hopeless case if Simmons attends it, 
on behalf of the parish. He knows all the titles of the 
Lord Mayor by heart ; states the case without a single 
stammer : and it is even reported that on one occasion he 
ventured to make a joke, which the Lord Mayor’s head 
footman (who happened to be present) afterwards told 
an intimate friend, confidentially, was almost equal to 
one of Mr. Hobler’s. 

See him again on Sunday in his state-coat and cocked- 
hat, with a large-headed staff for show in his left hand, 
and a small cane for use in his right. How pompously 
he marshals the children into their places ! and how de- 
murely the little urchins look at him askance as he sur- 
veys them when they are all seated, with a glare of the 
eye peculiar to beadles ! The churchwardens and over- 
seers being duly installed in their curtained pews, he 
seats himself on a mahogany bracket, erected expiessly 
for him at the top of the aisle, and divides his attention 
between his prayer-book and the boys. Suddenly, just 
at the commencement of the communion service, when 
the whole congregation is hushed into a profound silence, 
oroken only by the voice of the officiating clergyman, a 
penny is heard to ring on the stone floor of the aisle with 


14 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


astounding clearness. Observe the generalship of the 
beadle. His involuntary look of horror is instantly 
changed into one of perfect indifference, as if he were 
the only person present who had not heard the noise. 
The artifice succeeds. After putting forth his right leg 
low and then, as a feeler, the victim who dropped the 
money ventures to make one or two distinct dives after 
it ; and the beadle, gliding softly round, salutes his little 
round head, when it again appears above the seat, with 
divers double knocks, administered with the cane before 
noticed, to the intense delight of three young men in an 
adjacent pew, who cough violently at intervals until the 
conclusion of the sermon. 

Such are a few traits of the importance and gravity 
of a parish-beadle — a gravity which has never been dis- 
turbed in any case that has come under our observation, 
except when the services of that particularly useful 
machine, a parish fire-engine, are required : then indeed 
all is bustle. Two little boys run to the beadle as fast 
as their legs will carry them, and report from their own 
personal observation that some neighboring chimney is 
on fire ; the engine is hastily got out, and a plentiful 
supply of boys being obtained, and harnessed to it with 
ropes, away they rattle over the pavement, the beadle, 
running — we do not exaggerate * — - running at the side, 
until they arrive at some house, smelling strongly of soot, 
at the door of which the beadle knocks with considerable 
gravity for half an hour. No attention being paid to 
these manual applications, and the turn-cock having 
turned on the water, the engine turns off amidst the 
shouts of the boys ; it pulls up once more at the work- 
house, and the beadle “ pulls up ” the unfortunate house- 
holder next day, foi the amount of his legal reward, 


THE PARISH ENGINE. 


15 


We never saw a parish engine at a regular fire but 
once. It came up in gallant style — three miles and a 
half an hour, at least ; there was a capital supply of 
water, and it was first on the spot. Bang went the 
pumps — the people cheered — the beadle perspired pro- 
fusely ; but it was unfortunately discovered, just as they 
were going to put the fire out, that nobody understood 
the process by which the engine was filled with water ; 
and that eighteen boys, and a man, had exhausted them- 
selves in pumping for twenty minutes, without producing 
the slightest effect ! 

The personages next in importance to the beadle, are 
the master of the workhouse and the parish schoolmaster. 
The vestry-clerk, as everybody knows, is a short, pudgy 
tittle man, in black, with a thick gold watch-chain of 
considerable length, terminating in two large seals and a 
key. He is an attorney, and generally in a bustle ; at no 
time more so than when he is hurrying to some parochial 
meeting, with his gloves crumpled up in one hand, and a 
large red book under the other arm. As to the church- 
wardens and overseers, we exclude them altogether, be- 
cause all we know of them is, that they are usually 
respectable tradesmen, who wear hats with brims inclined 
to flatness, and who occasionally testify in gilt letters on 
a blue ground, in some conspicuous part of the church, 
to the important fact of a gallery having been enlarged 
and beautified, or an organ rebuilt. 

The master of the workhouse is not, in our parish — 
nor is he usually in any other — one of that class of men 
the better part of whose existence has passed away, and 
who drag out the remainder in some inferior situation, 
with just enough thought of the past, to feel degraded 
by, and discontented with, the present. We are unable 


16 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


to guess precisely to our own satisfaction what station the 
man can have occupied before ; we should think he had 
been an inferior sort of attorney’s clerk, or else the mas- 
ter of a national school — whatever he was, it is clear 
his present position is a change for the better. His 
income is small certainly, as the rusty black coat and 
threadbare velvet collar demonstrate : but then he lives 
free of house-rent, has a limited allowance of coals and 
candles, and an almost unlimited allowance of authority 
in his petty kingdom. He is a tall, thin, bony man ; 
always wears shoes and black cotton stockings with his 
surtout ; and eyes you, as you pass his parlor window, as 
if he wished you were a pauper, just to give you a speci- 
men of his power. He is an admirable specimen of a 
small tyrant : morose, brutish, and ill-tempered ; bullying 
to his inferiors, cringing to his superiors, and jealous of 
the influence and authority of the beadle. 

Our schoolmaster is just the very reverse of this ami- 
able official. He has been one of those men one occa- 
sionally hears of, on whom misfortune seems to have set 
her mark ; nothing he ever did, or was concerned in, ap- 
pears to have prospered. A rich old relation who had 
brought him up, and openly announced his intention of 
providing for him, left him 10,000/. in his will, and re- 
voked the bequest in a codicil. Thus unexpectedly re- 
duced to the necessity of providing for himself, he procured 
a situation in a public office. The young clerks below him, 
died off as if there was a plague among them ; but the 
old fellows over his head, for the reversion of whoso 
places he was anxiously waiting, lived on and on, as if 
they were immortal. He speculated and lost. He spec- 
ulated again, and won — but never got his money. His 
talents were great ; his disposition, easy, generous, and 


THE SCHOOLMASTER. 


17 


liberal. His friends profited by the one, and abused the 
other. Loss succeeded loss ; misfortune crowded on 
misfortune ; each successive day brought him nearer the 
verge of hopeless penury, and the quondam friends who 
had been warmest in their professions, grew strangely 
cold and indifferent. He had children whom he loved, 
and a wife on whom he doted. The former turned their 
backs on him ; the latter died broken-hearted. He went 
with the stream — it had ever been his failing, and he had 
not courage sufficient to bear up against so many shocks 
— he had never cared for himself, and the only being who 
had cared for him, in his poverty and distress, was spared 
to him no longer. It was at this period that he applied 
for parochial relief. Some kind-hearted man who had 
known him in happier times, chanced to be churchwarden 
that year, and through his interest he was appointed to 
his present situation. 

He is an old man now. Of the many who once 
crowded round him in all the hollow friendship of boon 
companionship, some have died, some have fallen like 
himself, some have prospered — all have forgotten him. 
Time and misfortune have mercifully been permitted to 
impair his memory, and use has habituated him to his 
present condition. Meek, uncomplaining, and zealous in 
the discharge of his duties, he has been allowed to hold 
his situation long beyond the usual period ; and he will 
no doubt continue to hold it, until infirmity renders him 
incapable, or death releases him. As the gray-headed 
old man feebly paces up and down the sunny side of the 
little court-yard between school hours, it would be diffi- 
cult, indeed, for the most intimate of his former friends 
to recognize their once gay and happy associate, in the 
person of the Pauper Schoolmaster. 


18 


SKETCHES BY BOZ 


CHAPTER II. 

THE CURATE. THE OLD LADY. THE HALF-PAY CAPTAIN 

We commenced our last chapter with the beadle of 
our parish, because we are deeply sensible of the impor- 
tance and dignity of his office. We will begin the present, 
with the clergyman. Our curate is a young gentleman 
of such prepossessing appearance, and fascinating man- 
ners, that within one month after his first appearance in 
the parish, half the young-lady inhabitants were melan- 
choly with religion, and the other half, desponding with 
love. Never were so many young ladies seen in our 
parish-church on Sunday before ; and never had the little 
round angels’ faces on Mr. Tomkin’s monument in the 
side-aisle, beheld such devotion on earth as they all ex- 
hibited. He was about five-and-twenty when he first 
came to astonish the parishioners. He parted his hair 
on the centre of his forehead in the form of a Norman 
arch, wore a brilliant of the first water on the fourth fin- 
ger of his left hand (which he always applied to his left 
cheek when he read prayers), and had a deep sepulchral 
voice of unusual solemnity. Innumerable were the calls 
made by prudent mammas on our new curate, and innu- 
merable the invitations with which he was assailed, and 
which, to do him justice, he readily accepted. If his 
manner in the pulpit had created an impression in his 
favor, the sensation was increased tenfold, by his appear- 
ance in private circles. Pews in the immediate vicinity 
of the pulpit or reading-desk rose in value ; sittings in 


THE CURATE. 


19 


the centre aisle were at a premium : an inch of room in 
the front row of the gallery could not be procured for 
love or money ; and some people even went so far as to 
assert, that the three Miss Browns, who had an obscure 
family pew just behind the churchwardens’, were detected, 
one Sunday, in the free seats by the communion-table, 
actually lying in wait for the curate as he passed to the 
vestry ! He began to preach extempore sermons, and 
even grave papas caught the infection. He got out of 
bed at half-past twelve o’clock one winter’s night, to half- 
baptize a washerwoman’s child in a slop-basin, and the 
gratitude of the parishioners knew no bounds — the very 
churchwardens grew generous, and insisted on the parish 
defraying the expense of the watch-box on wheels which 
the new curate had ordered for himself, to perform the fu- 
neral service in, in wet weather. He sent three pints of 
gruel and a quarter of a pound of tea to a poor woman 
who had been brought to bed of four small children, all at 
once — the parish were charmed. He got up a subscrip- 
tion for her — the woman’s fortune was made. He spoke 
for one hour and twenty-five minutes, at an anti-slavery 
meeting at the Goat and Boots — the enthusiasm was 
at its height. A proposal was set on foot for presenting 
the curate with a piece of plate, as a mark of esteem for 
his valuable services rendered to the parish. The list 
of subscriptions was filled up in no time ; the contest 
was, not who should escape the contribution, but who 
should be the foremost to subscribe. A splendid silver 
inkstand was made, and engraved with an appropriate 
inscription the curate was invited to a public break- 
fast, at the before-mentioned Goat and Boots ; the ink- 
stand was presented in a neat speech by Mr. Gubbins, 
the ex-churchwarden, and acknowledged by the curate 


20 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


in terms which drew tears into the eyes of all present 
— the very waiters were melted. 

One would have supposed that, by this time, the theme 
of universal admiration was lifted to the very pinnacle 
of popularity. No such thing. The curate began to 
cough ; four fits of coughing one morning between the 
Litany and the Epistle, and five in the afternoon service. 
Here was a discovery — the curate was consumptive. 
How interestingly melancholy ! If the young ladies 
were energetic before, their sympathy and solicitude now 
knew no bounds. Such a man as the curate — such a 
dear — such a perfect love — to be consumptive ! It 
was too much. Anonymous presents of black currant 
jam, and lozenges, elastic waistcoats, bosom friends, and 
warm stockings, poured in upon the curate until he was 
as completely fitted out, with winter clothing, as if he 
were on the verge of an expedition to the North Pole : 
verbal bulletins of the state of his health were circulated 
throughout the parish half a dozen times a day ; and the 
curate was in the very zenith of his popularity. 

About this period, a change came over the spirit of 
the parish. A very quiet, respectable, dozing old gen- 
tleman, who had officiated in our chapel of ease for twelve 
years previously, died one fine morning, without having 
given any notice whatever of his intention. The circum- 
stance gave rise to counter-sensation the first ; and the 
arrival of his successor occasioned counter-sensation the 
second. He was a pale, thin, cadaverous man, with large 
black eyes, and long straggling black hair : his dress was 
slovenly in the extreme, his manner ungainly, his doc- 
trines startling ; in short, he was in every respect the an- 
tipodes of the curate. Crowds of our female parishioners 
flocked to hear him : at first, because he was so odd-look- 


■ THE OLD LADY. 


21 


ing, then because his face was so expressive, then because 
ne preached so well ; and at last, because they really 
thought, after all, there was something about him which 
it was quite impossible to describe. As to the curate, he 
was all very well ; but certainly, after all, there was no 
denying that — that — in short, the curate wasn’t a nov- 
elty, and the other clergyman was. The inconstancy of 
public opinion is proverbial : the congregation migrated 
one by one. The curate coughed till he was black in the 
face — it was in vain. He respired with difficulty — it 
was equally ineffectual in awakening sympathy. Seats 
are once again to be had in any part of our parish church, 
and the chapel-of-ease is going to be enlarged, as it is 
crowded to suffocation every Sunday ! 

The best known and most respected among our parish- 
ioners, is an old lady, who resided in our parish long be- 
fore our name was registered in the list of baptisms. Our 
parish is a suburban one, and the old lady lives in a neat 
row of houses in the most airy and pleasant part of it. 
The house is her own ; and it, and everything about it, 
except the old lady herself, who looks a little older than 
she did ten years ago, is in just the same state as when 
the old gentleman was living. The little front parlor, 
which is the old lady’s ordinary sitting-room, is a perfect 
picture of quiet neatness : the carpet is covered with 
brown Holland, the glass and picture-frames are carefully 
enveloped in yellow muslin ; the table-covers are never 
taken off, except when the leaves are turpentined and 
bees’waxed, an operation which is regularly commenced 
every other morning at half-past nine o’clock — and the 
little knick-knacks are always arranged in precisely the 
same manner. The greater part of these are presents 
from little girls whose parents reside in the same row , 


22 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


but some of them, such as the two old-fashioned watches 
(which never keep the same time, one being always a 
quarter of an hour too slow, and the other a quarter of 
an hour too fast), the little picture of the Princess Char- 
lotte and Prince Leopold as they appeared in the Royal 
Box at Drury Lane Theatre, and others of the same class, 
have been in the old lady’s possession for many years. 
Here the old lady sits with her spectacles on, busily en- 
gaged in needlework — near the window in summer time ; 
and if she sees you coming up the steps, and you happen 
to be a favorite, she trots out to open the street door for 
you before you knock, and as you must be fatigued after 
that hot walk, insists on your swallowing two glasses of 
sherry before you exert yourself by talking. If you call 
in the evening you will find her cheerful, but rather 
more serious than usual, with an open Bible on the table, 
before her, of which “ Sarah,” who is just as neat and 
methodical as her mistress, regularly reads two or three 
chapters in the parlor aloud. 

The old lady sees scarcely any company, except the 
little girls before noticed, each of whom has always a 
regular fixed day for a periodical tea-drinking with her, 
to which the child looks forward as the greatest treat of 
its existence. She seldom visits at a greater distance 
than the next door but one on either side ; and when she 
drinks tea here, Sarah runs out first and knocks a double- 
knock, to prevent the possibility of her “ Missis’s ” catch- 
ing cold by having to wait at the door. She is very 
scrupulous in returning these little invitations, and when 
she asks Mr. and Mrs. So-and-so, to meet Mr. and Mrs. 
Somebody-else, Sarah and she dust the urn, and the best 
china tea-service, and the Pope Joan board ; and the 
visitors are received in the drawing-room in great state. 


THE OLD LADY. 


23 


She has but few relations, and they are scattered about 
in different parts of the country, and she seldom sees 
them. She has a son in India, whom she always de- 
scribes to you as a fine, handsome fellow — so like the 
profile of his poor dear father over the sideboard, but the 
old lady adds, with a mournful shake of the head, that 
he has always been one of her greatest trials, and that 
indeed he once almost broke her heart ; but it pleased 
God to enable her to get the better of it, and she would 
prefer your never mentioning the subject to her, again. 
She has a great number of pensioners ; and on Saturday, 
after she comes back from market, there is a regular levee 
of old men and women in the passage, waiting for their 
weekly gratuity. Her name always heads the list of any 
benevolent subscriptions, and hers are always the most 
liberal donations to the Winter Coal and Soup Distribu- 
tion Society. She subscribed twenty pounds towards the 
erection of an organ in our parish church, and was so 
overcome the first Sunday the children sang to it, that she 
was obliged to be carried out by the pew- opener. Her 
entrance into church on Sunday is always the signal for 
a little bustle in the side-aisle, occasioned by a general 
rise among the poor people, who bow and courtesy until 
the pew-opener has ushered the old lady into her accus- 
tomed seat, dropped a respectful courtesy, and shut the 
door : and the same ceremony is repeated on her leaving 
church, when she walks home with the family next door 
but one, and talks about the sermon all the way, inva- 
"iably opening the conversation by asking the youngest 
boy where the text was. 

Thus, with the annual variation of a trip to some quiet 
place on the sea-coast, passes the old lady’s life. It has 
rolled on in the same unvarying and benevolent course 


u 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


for many years now, and must at no distant period be 
brought to its final close. She looks forward to its ter- 
mination, with calmness and without apprehension. She 
has everything to hope and nothing to fear. 

A very different personage, but one who has rendered 
himself very conspicuous in our parish, is one of the old 
lady’s next-door neighbors. He is an old naval officer 
on half-pay, and his bluff and unceremonious behavior 
disturbs the old lady’s domestic economy, not a little. In 
the first place, he will smoke cigars in the front court, 
and when he wants something to drink with them — 
which is by no means an uncommon circumstance — he 
lifts up the old lady’s knocker with his walking-stick, and 
demands to have a glass of table-ale, handed over the 
rails. In addition to this cool proceeding, he is a bit of a 
Jack-of-all-trades, or to use his own words, “ A regular 
Robinson Crusoe ; ” and nothing delights him better than 
to experimentalize on the old lady’s property. One 
morning he got up early, and planted three or four roots 
of full-grown marigolds in every bed of her front garden, 
to the inconceivable astonishment of the old lady, who 
actually thought when she got up and looked out of the 
window, that it was some strange eruption which had 
come out in the night. Another time he took to pieces 
the eight-day clock on the front landing, under pretence 
of cleaning the works, which he put together again by 
some undiscovered process in so wonderful a manner, 
that the large hand has done nothing but trip up the 
little one ever since. Then he took to breeding silk- 
worms, which he would bring in two or three times a 
day, in little paper boxes, to show the old lady, generally 
dropping a worm or two at every visit. The consequence 
was, that one morning a very stout silk-worm was discov 


THE CAPTAIN. 


25 


fired in the act of walking up-stairs — probably with the 
view of inquiring after bis friends, for, on further inspec- 
tion, it appeared that some of his companions had already 
found their way to every room in the house. The old 
lady went to the sea-side in despair, and during her 
absence he completely effaced the name from her brass 
door-plate, in his attempts to polish it with aqua-fortis. 

But all this is nothing to his seditious conduct in pub- 
lic life. He attends every vestry meeting that is held ; 
always opposes the constituted authorities of the parish, 
denounces the profligacy of the churchwardens, contests 
legal points against the vestry-clerk, will make the tax- 
gatherer call for his money till he won't call any longer, 
and then he sends it : finds fault with the sermon every 
Sunday, says that the organist ought to be ashamed of 
himself, offers to back himself for any amount to sing the 
psalms better than all the children put together, male 
and female ; and, in short, conducts himself in the most 
turbulent and uproarious manner. The worst of it is, 
that having a high regard for the old lady, he wants to 
make her a convert to his views, and therefore walks into 
her little parlor with his newspaper in his hand, and talks 
violent politics by the hour. He is a charitable, open- 
hearted old fellow at bottom, after all ; so, although he 
puts the old lady a little out occasionally, they agree very 
w«**J in the main, and she laughs as much at each feat of 
***ndiwork when it is all over, as anybody else. 


26 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CHAPTER III. 

THE FOUR SISTERS. 

The row of houses in which the old lady and her 
troublesome neighbor reside, comprises, beyond all doubt, 
a greater number of characters within its circumscribed 
limits, than all the rest of the parish put together. As 
we cannot, consistently with our present plan, however, 
extend the number of our parochial sketches beyond six, 
it will be better, perhaps, to select the most peculiar, and 
to introduce them at once without further preface. 

The four Miss Willises, then, settled in our parish 
thirteen years ago. It is a melancholy reflection that 
the old adage, “ time and tide wait for no man, r applies 
with equal force to the fairer portion of the creation ; 
and willingly would we conceal the fact, that even thir- 
teen years ago, the Miss Willises were far from juvenile. 
Our duty as faithful parochial chroniclers, however, is 
paramount to every other consideration, and we are 
bound to state, that thirteen years since, the authorities 
in matrimonial cases considered the youngest Miss Willis 
in a very precarious state, while the eldest sister was 
positively given over, as being far beyond all human 
hope. Well, the Miss Willises took a lease of the 
house ; it was fresh painted and papered from top to bot- 
tom : the paint inside was all wainscoted, the marble all 
cleaned, the old grates taken down, and register-stoves, 
you could see to dress by, put up ; four trees were 
planted in the back garden, several small baskets of 


THE FOUR SISTERS. 


27 


gravel sprinkled over the front one, vans of elegant fur- 
niture arrived, spring blinds were fitted to the windows, 
carpenters who had been employed in the various prepa- 
rations, alterations, and repairs, made confidential state- 
ments to the different maid-servants in the row, relative 
to the magnificent scale on which the Miss Willises were 
commencing; the maid-servants told their “Missises,” 
the Missises told their friends, and vague rumors were 
circulated throughout the parish, that No. 25, in Gordon- 
place, had been taken by four maiden ladies of immense 
property. 

At last, the Miss Willises moved in; and then the 
“ calling ” began. The house was the perfection of neat- 
ness — so were the four Miss Willises. Everything was 
formal, stiff, and cold — so were the four Miss Willises. 
Not a single chair of the whole set was ever seen out of 
its place — not a single Miss Willis of the whole four 
was ever seen out of hers. There they always sat, in 
the same places, doing precisely the same things at the 
same hour. The eldest Miss Willis used to knit, the 
second to draw, the two others to play duets on the 
piano. They seemed to have no separate existence, but 
to have made up their minds just to winter through life 
together. They were three long graces in drapery, with 
the addition, like a school-dinner of another long grace 
afterwards — the three fates with another sister — the 
Siamese twins multiplied by two. The eldest Miss 
Willis grew bilious — the four Miss Willises grew bil- 
ious immediately. The eldest Miss Willis grew ill- 
tempered and religious — the four Miss Willises were 
ill-tempered and religious directly. Whatever the eldest 
did, the others did, and whatever anybody else did, they 
all disapproved of ; and thus they vegetated — living in 


28 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Polar harmony among themselves, and, as they some- 
times went out, or saw company “ in a quiet way ” at 
home, occasionally iceing the neighbors. Three years 
passed over in this way, when an unlooked for and ex- 
traordinary phenomenon occurred. The Miss Willises 
showed symptoms of summer, the frost gradually broke 
up ; a complete thaw took place. Was it possible ? one 
of the four Miss Willises w r as going to be married ! 

Now, where on earth the husband came from, by what 
feelings the poor man could have been actuated, or by 
what process of reasoning the four Miss Willises suc- 
ceeded in persuading themselves that it was possible for 
a man to marry one of them, without marrying them all, 
are questions too profound for us to resolve : certain it is, 
however, that the visits of Mr. Robinson (a gentleman 
in a public office, with a good salary and a little property 
of his own, beside) were received — that the four Miss 
Willises were courted in due form by the said Mr. Rob- 
inson — that the neighbors were perfectly frantic in their 
anxiety to discover which of the four Miss Willises was 
the fortunate fair, and that the difficulty they experienced 
in solving the problem was not at all lessened by the 
announcement of the eldest Miss Willis, — “ We are go- 
ing to marry Mr. Robinson.” 

It was very extraordinary. They were so completely 
identified, the one with the other, that the curiosity of the 
whole row — even of the old lady herself — was roused 
almost beyond endurance. The subject was discussed at 
every little card-table and tea-drinking. The old gentle- 
man of silk-worm notoriety did not hesitate to express 
his decided opinion that Mr. Robinson was of Eastern 
descent, and contemplated marrying the whole family at 
once ; and the row, generally, shook their heads with 


THE FOUR SISTERS. 


29 


considerable gravity, and declared the business to be 
very mysterious. They hoped it might all end well ; — 
it certainly had a very singular appearance, but still it 
would be uncharitable to express any opinion without 
good grounds to go upon, and certainly the Miss Willises 
were quite old enough to judge for themselves, and to ?)e 
sure people ought to know their own business best, and 
so forth. 

At last, one fine morning, at a quarter before eight 
o'clock, a.m., two glass coaches drove up to the Miss 
Willises’ door at which Mr. Robinson had arrived in a 
cab ten minutes before, dressed in a light blue coat 
and double-milled kersey pantaloons, white neckerchief, 
pumps, and dress-gloves, his manner denoting, as ap- 
peared from the evidence of the housemaid at No. 23, 
who was sweeping the door-steps at the time, a consider- 
able degree of nervous excitement. It was also hastily 
reported on the same testimony, that the cook who 
opened the door, wore a large white bow of unusual 
dimensions, in a much smarter head-dress than the regu- 
lation cap to which the Miss Willises invariably re- 
stricted the somewhat excursive taste of female ser- 
vants in general. 

The intelligence spread rapidly from house to house. 
It was quite clear that the eventful morning had at 
length arrived ; the whole row stationed themselves be- 
hind their first and second floor blinds, and waited the 
result in breathless expectation. 

At last the Miss Willises’ door opened ; the door of the 
first glass coach did the same. Two gentlemen and a 
pair of ladies to correspond — friends of the family, 
no doubt ; up went the steps, bang went the door, off 
went the first glass coach, and up came the second. 


30 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


The street-door opened again ; the excitement of the 
whole row increased — Mr. Robinson and the eldest 
Miss Willis. “ I thought so,” said the lady at No. 19 ; 
“ I always said it was Miss Willis ! ” — “ Well, I never !” 
ejaculated the young lady at No. 18 to the young lady 
at No. 17 — “ Did you ever, dear ! ” responded the young 
lady at No. 17 to the young lady at No. 18. “It’s too 
riliculous ! ” exclaimed a spinster of an wrccertain age, at 
No. 16, joining in the conversation. But who shall por- 
tray the astonishment of Gordon Place, when Mr. Robin- 
son handed in all the Miss Willises, one after the other, 
and then squeezed himself into an acute angle of the 
glass-coach, which forthwith proceeded at a brisk pace, 
after the other glass coach, which other glass coach had 
itself proceeded, at a brisk pace, in the direction of the 
parish church. Who shall depict the perplexity of the 
clergyman, when all the Miss Willises knelt down at the 
communion table, and repeated the responses incidental 
to the marriage service in an audible voice — or who 
shall describe the confusion which prevailed, when — 
even after the difficulties thus occasioned had been ad- 
justed — all the Miss Willises went into hysterics at the 
conclusion of the ceremony, until the sacred edifice re- 
sounded with their united wailings ! 

As the four sisters and Mr. Robinson continued to 
occupy the same house after this memorable occasion, 
and as the married sister, whoever she was, never ap- 
peared in public without the other three, we are not 
}uite clear that the neighbors ever would have discovered 
the real Mrs. Robinson, but for a circumstance of the 
most gratifying description, which will happen occasion- 
ally in the best regulated families. Three quarter days 
elapsed, and the row, on whom a new light appeared to 


THE FOUR SISTERS. 


31 


have been bursting for some time, began to speak with a 
sort of implied confidence on the subject, and to wonder 
how Mrs. Robinson — the youngest Miss Willis that was 
— got on ; and servants might be seen running up the 
steps, about nine or ten o’clock every morning, with 
“Missis’s compliments, and wishes to know how Mrs. 
Robinson finds herself this morning ? ” And the answer 
always was, “ Mrs. Robinson’s compliments, and she’s in 
very good spirits, and doesn’t find herself any worse.” 
The piano was heard no longer, the knitting-needles 
were laid aside, drawing was neglected, and mantua- 
making and millinery, on the smallest scale imaginable, 
appeared to have become the favorite amusement of the 
whole family. The parlor wasn’t quite as tidy as it used 
to be, and if you called in the mornifig, you would see 
lying on a table, with an old newspaper carelessly 
thrown over them, two or three particularly small 
caps, rather larger than if they had been made for a 
moderate-sized doll, with a small piece of lace, in the 
shape of a horse-shoe, let in behind : or perhaps a white 
robe, not very large in circumference, but very much out 
of proportion in point of length, with a little tucker 
round the top, and a frill round the bottom ; and once 
when we called, we saw a long white roller, with a kind 
of blue margin down each side, the probable use of 
which, we were at a loss to conjecture. Then we fancied 
that Mr. Dawson, the surgeon, &c., who displays a large 
lamp with a different color in every pane of glass, at the 
corner of the row, began to be knocked up at night 
oftener than he used to be ; and once we were very much 
alarmed by hearing a hackney-coach stop at Mrs. Rob- 
inson’s door, at half past two o’clock in the morning, out 
of which there emerged a fat old woman, in a cloak and 


32 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


night-cap, with a bundle in one hand, and a pair of 
pattens in the other, who looked as if she had been 
suddenly knocked up out of bed for some very special 
purpose. 

When we got up in the morning we saw that the 
knocker was tied up in an old white kid glove ; and we, 
in our innocence (we were in a state of bachelorship 
then), wondered what on earth it all meant, until we 
heard the eldest Miss Willis, in propria persona , say, 
with great dignity, in answer to the next inquiry, “ My 
compliments, and Mrs. Robinson’s doing as well as can 
be expected, and the little girl thrives wonderfully.” 
And then, in common with the rest of the row, our 
curiosity was sat^fied, and we began to wonder it had 
never occurred to us what the matter was, before. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. 

A great event has recently occurred in our parish. 
A contest of paramount interest has just terminated , a 
parochial convulsion has taken place. It has been suc- 
ceeded by a glorious triumph, which the country — or at 
least the parish — it is all the same — will long remem- 
ber. We had had an election ; an election for beadle. 
The supporters of the old beadle system have been de- 
feated in their stronghold, and the advocates of the great 
new beadle principles have achieved a proud victory. 

Our parish, which, like all other parishes, is a little 


THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. 


83 


world of its own, has long been divided into two parties, 
whose contentions, slumbering for a while, have never 
failed to burst forth with unabated vigor, on any occa- 
sion on which they could by possibility be renewed. 
Watching-rates, lighting-rates, paving-rates, sewers’-rates, 
church-rates, poor’s-rates — all sorts of rates, have been 
in their turns the subjects of a grand struggle ; and as 
to questions of patronage, the asperity and determina- 
tion with which they have been contested is scarcely 
credible. 

The leader of the official party — the steady advocate 
of the churchwardens, and the unflinching supporter of 
the overseers — is an old gentleman who lives in our 
row. He owns some half-dozen houses in it, and always 
walks on the opposite side of the way, so that he may be 
able to take in a view of the whole of his property at 
once. He is a tall, thin, bony man, with an interrogative 
nose, and little restless perking eyes, which appear to 
have been given him for the sole purpose of peeping into 
other people’s affairs with. . He is deeply impressed with 
the importance of our parish business, and prides himself, 
not a little, on his style of addressing the parishioners in 
vestry assembled. His views are rather confined than 
extensive ; his principles more narrow than liberal. He 
has been heard to declaim very loudly in favor of the 
liberty of the press, and advocates the repeal of the stamp 
duty on newspapers, because the daily journals who now 
have a monopoly of the public, never give verbatim re- 
ports of vestry meetings. He would not appear egotisti- 
cal for the world, but at the same time he must say, that 
there are speeches — that oelebrated speech of his own, 
on the emoluments of the sexton, and the duties of the 
office, for instance — which might be communieated to 
3 


VOL. I. 


34 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


the public, greatly to their improvement and advan- 
tage. 

His great opponent in public life is Captain Purday. 
the old naval officer on half-pay, to whom we have al- 
ready introduced our readers. The captain being a de- 
termined opponent of the constituted authorities, whoevei 
they may chance to be, and our other friend being their 
steady supporter, with an equal disregard of their individ- 
ual merits, it will readily be supposed, that occasions for 
their coming into direct collision are neither few nor far 
between. They divided the vestry fourteen times on a 
motion for heating the church with warm water instead 
of coals ; and made speeches about liberty and expendi- 
ture, and prodigality and hot water, which threw the 
whole parish into a state of excitement. Then the cap- 
tain, when he was on the visiting committee, and his 
opponent overseer, brought forward certain distinct and 
specific charges relative to the management of the work- 
house, boldly expressed his total want of confidence in 
the existing authorities, and moved for “ a copy of the 
recipe by which the paupers’ soup was prepared, together 
with any documents relating thereto.” This the overseer 
steadily resisted ; he fortified himself by precedent, ap- 
pealed to the established usage, and declined to produce 
the papers, on the ground of the injury that would be 
done to the public service, if documents of a strictly pri- 
vate nature, passing between the master of the workhouse 
and the cook, were to be thus dragged to light on the mo- 
tion of any individual member of the vestry. The mo- 
tion was lost by a majority of two ; and then the captain, 
who never allows himself to be defeated, moved for a 
committee of inquiry into the whole subject. The affair 
grew serious : the question was discussed at meeting after 


THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. 


35 


meeting, and vestry after vestry ; speeches were made, at- 
tacks repudiated, personal defiances exchanged, explana- 
tions received, and the greatest excitement prevailed, 
until at last, just as the question was going to be finally 
decided, the vestry found that somehow or other, they had 
become entangled in a point of form, from which it was 
impossible to escape with propriety. So, the motion was 
dropped, and everybody looked extremely important, and 
seemed quite satisfied with the meritorious nature of the 
whole proceeding. 

This was the state of affairs in our parish a week or 
two since, when Simmons, the beadle, suddenly died. 
The lamented deceased had over-exerted himself, a day 
or two previously, in conveying an aged female, highly 
intoxicated, to the strong room of the workhouse. The 
excitement thus occasioned, added to a severe cold, which 
this indefatigable officer had caught in his capacity of 
director of the parish engine, by inadvertently playing 
over himself instead of a fire, proved too much for a con- 
stitution already enfeebled by age ; and the intelligence 
was conveyed to the Board one evening that Simmons 
had died, and left his respects. 

The breath was scarcely out of the body of the de- 
ceased functionary, when the field was filled with competi- 
tors for the vacant office, each of whom rested his claims 
io public support, entirely on the number and extent of 
his family, as if the office of beadle were originally in- 
stituted as an encouragement for the propagation of 
the human species. “Bung for Beadle. Five small 
children ! ” — “ Hopkins for Beadle. Seven small 
children ! ! ” — “ Timkins for Beadle. Nine small chil- 
dren ! ! ! ” Such were the placards in large black letters 
m a white ground, which were plentifully pasted on the 


36 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


walls, and posted in the windows of the principal shopa, 
Timkins’s success was considered certain : several moth- 
ers of families half promised their votes, and the nine 
small children would have run over the course, but for 
the production of another placard, announcing the appear- 
ance of a still more meritorious candidate. “ Spruggins 
for Beadle. Ten small children (two of them twins), 
and a wife ! ! ! ” There was no resisting this ; ten small 
children would have been almost irresistible in them- 
selves, without the twins, but the touching parenthesis 
about that interesting production of nature, and the still 
more touching allusion to Mrs. Spruggins, must insure 
success. Spruggins was the favorite at once, and the ap- 
pearance of his lady, as she went about to solicit votes 
(which encouraged confident hopes of a still further ad- 
dition to the house of Spruggins at no remote period), 
increased the general prepossession in his favor. The 
other candidates, Bung alone excepted, resigned in de- 
spair. The day of election was fixed ; and the canvass 
proceeded with briskness and perseverance on -both sides. 

The members of the vestry could not be supposed to 
escape the contagious excitement inseparable from the 
occasion. The majority of the lady inhabitants of the 
parish declared at once for Spruggins ; and the quondam 
overseer took the same side, on the ground that men with 
large families always had been elected to the office, and 
that although he must admit, that, in other respects, 
Spruggins was the least qualified candidate of the two, 
still it was an old practice, and he saw no reason why an 
old practice should be departed from. This was enough 
for the captain. He immediately sided with Bung, can- 
vassed for him personally in all directions, wrote squibs 
on Spruggins, and got his butcher to skewer them up on 


THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. 


37 


conspicuous joints in his shop-front ; frightened his neigh- 
bor, the old lady, into a palpitation of the heart, by his 
awful denunciations of Spruggins’s party, and bounced 
in and out, and up and down, and backwards and for- 
wards, until all the sober inhabitants of the parish 
thought it inevitable that, he must die of a brain-fever, 
long before the election began. 

The day of election arrived. It was no longer an 
individual struggle, but a party contest between the ins 
and outs. The question was, whether the withering in- 
fluence of the overseers, the domination of the church- 
wardens, and the blighting despotism of the vestry-clerk, 
should be allowed to render the election of beadle a form 
— a nullity : whether they should impose a vestry-elected 
beadle on the parish, to do their bidding and forward 
their views, or whether the parishioners, fearlessly assert- 
ing their undoubted rights, should elect an independent 
beadle of their own. 

The nomination was fixed to take place in the vestry, 
but so great was the throng of anxious spectators, that it 
was found necessary to adjourn to the church, where the 
ceremony commenced with due solemnity. The appear- 
ance of the churchwardens and overseers, and the ex- 
churchwardens, and ex-overseers, with Spruggins in the 
rear, excited general attention. Spruggins was a little 
thin man, in rusty black, with a long pale face, and a 
countenance expressive of care and fatigue, which might 
either be attributed to the extent of his family or the 
anxiety of his feelings. His opponent appeared in a 
cast-off coat of the captain’s — a blue coat with bright 
buttons : white trousers, and that description of shoes 
familiarly known by the appellation of “ high-lows.” 
There was a serenity in the open countenance of Bung 


38 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


— a kind of moral dignity in his confident air — an “ I 
wish you may get it ” sort of expression in his eye — 
which infused animation into his supporters, and evi- 
dently dispirited his opponents. 

The ex-churchwarden rose to propose Thomas Sprug- 

gins for beadle. He had known him long. He had had 

© © 

his eye upon him closely for years ; he had watched him 
with twofold vigilance for months. (A parishioner here 
suggested that this might be termed “ taking a double 
sight,” but the observation was drowned in loud cries of 
u Order ! ”) He would repeat that he had had his eye 
upon him for years, and this he would say, that a more 
well-conducted, a more well-behaved, a more sober, a 
more quiet man, with a more well-regulated mind he 
had never met with. A man with a larger family he 
had never known (cheers). The parish required a man 
who could be depended on (“ Hear ! ” from the Spruggins 
side, answered by ironical cheers from the Bung party). 
Such a man he now proposed (“ No,” “ Yes ”). He 
would not allude to individuals (the ex-churchwarden 
continued, in the celebrated negative style adopted by 
great speakers). He would not advert to a gentleman 
who had once held a high rank in the service of his 
majesty ; he would not say, that that gentleman was no 
gentleman ; he would not assert, that that man was no 
man ; he would not say, that he was a turbulent parish- 
ioner ; he would not say, that he had grossly misbehaved 
himself, not only on this, but on all former occasions ; he 
would not say, that he was one of those discontented and 
treasonable spirits, who carried confusion and disorder 
wherever they went ; he would not say, that he harbored 
in his heart envy, and hatred, and malice, and all un- 
charitableness. No ! He wished to have everything 


THE ELECTION FOR BEADLE. 


39 


comfortable and pleasant, and therefore, he would say — 
nothing about him (cheers). 

The captain replied in a similar parliamentary style. 
He would not say, he was astonished at the speech they 
had just heard ; he would not say, he was disgusted 
(cheers). He would not retort the epithets which had 
been hurled against him (renewed cheering) ; he would 
not allude to men once in office, but now happily out of 
it, who had mismanaged the workhouse, ground the pau- 
pers, diluted the beer, slack-baked the bread, boned the 
meat, heightened the work, and lowered the soup (tre- 
mendous cheers). He would not ask what such men 
deserved (a voice “ Nothing a-day, and find them- 
selves ! ”). He would not say, that one burst of general 
indignation should drive them from the parish they pol- 
luted with their presence (“ Give it him ! ”). He would 
not allude to the unfortunate man who had been proposed 
— he would not say, as the vestry’s tool, but as Beadle. 
He would not advert to that individual’s family ; he 
would not say, that nine children, twins, and a wife, 
were very bad examples for pauper imitation (loud 
cheers). He would not advert in detail to the qualifica- 
tions of Bung. The man stood before him, and he would 
not say in his presence, what he might be disposed to say 
of him if he were absent. (Here Mr. Bung telegraphed 
to a friend near him, under cover of his hat, by contract- 
ing his left eye, and applying his right thumb to the tip 
of his nose.) It had been objected to Bung that he had 
only five children (“ Hear, hear ! ” from the opposition). 
Well ; he had yet to learn that the legislature had affixed 
any precise amount of infantine qualification to the office 
of beadle ; but taking it for granted that an extensive 
family were a great requisite, he entreated them to look 


40 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


to facts, and compare data , about which there could be 
no mistake. Bung was 35 years of age. Spruggins — 
of whom he wished to speak with all possible respect — 
was 50. Was it not more than possible — was it not 
very probable — that by the time Bung attained the 
latter age, he might see around him a family, even ex- 
ceeding in number and extent that to which Spruggins 
at present laid claim (deafening cheers and waving of 
handkerchiefs) ? The captain concluded, amidst loud 
applause, by calling upon the parishioners to sound the 
tocsin, rush to the poll, free themselves from dictation, or 
be slaves forever. 

On the following day the polling began, and we never 
have had such a bustle in our parish since we got up our 
famous anti-slavery petition, which was such an impor- 
tant one, that the House of Commons ordered it to be 
printed, on the motion of the member for the district. 
The captain engaged two hackney-coaches and a cab for 
Bung’s people — the cab for the drunken voters, and the 
two coaches for the old ladies, the greater portion of 
whom, owing to the captain’s impetuosity, were driven 
up to the poll and home again, before they recovered 
from their flurry sufficiently to know, with any degree 
of clearness, what they had been doing. The opposite 
party wholly neglected these precautions, and the conse- 
quence was, that a great many ladies who were walking 
leisurely up to the church — for it was a very hot day — 
to vote for Spruggins, were artfully decoyed into the 
coaches, and voted for Bung. The captain’s arguments, 
too, had produced considerable effect : the attempted 
influence of the vestry produced a greater. A threat 
of exclusive dealing was clearly established against the 
vestry-clerk — a case of heartless and profligate atrocity. 


THE BROKER’S MAN. 


41 


It appeared that the delinquent had been in the habit of 
purchasing six penn’orth of muffins, weekly, from an old 
woman who rents a small house in the parish, and resides 
among the original settlers ; on her last weekly visit, a 
message was conveyed to her through the medium of the 
cook, couched in mysterious terms, but indicating with 
sufficient clearness, that the vestry-clerk’s appetite for 
muffins, in future, depended entirely on her vote on the 
beadleship. This was sufficient : the stream had been 
turning previously, and the impulse ;hus administered 
directed its final course. The Bung party ordered one 
shilling’s-worth of muffins weekly for the remainder of 
the old woman’s natural life ; the parishioners were loud 
in their exclamations ; and the fate of Spruggins was 
sealed. 

It was in vain that the twins were exhibited in dresses 
of the same pattern, and night-caps to match, at the church- 
door : the boy in Mrs. Spruggins’s right arm, and the girl 
in her left — even Mrs. Spruggins herself failed to be an 
object of sympathy any longer. The majority attained 
by Bung on the gross poll was four hundred and twenty- 
eight, and the cause of the parishioners triumphed. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE BROKER’S MAN. 

The excitement of the late election has subsided, and 
our parish being once again restored to a state of com- 
parative tranquillity, we are enabled to devote our attem 


42 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


tion to those parishioners who take little share in ouf 
party contests or in the turmoil and bustle of public life. 
And we feel sincere pleasure in acknowledging here, that 
in collecting materials for this task we have been greatly 
assisted by Mr. Bung himself, who has imposed on us a 
debt of obligation which we fear we can never repay. 
The life of this gentleman has been one of a very 
checkered description : he has undergone transitions — 
not from grave to gay, for he never was grave — not 
from lively to severe, for severity forms no part of his 
disposition ; his fluctuations have been between poverty 
in the extreme, and poverty modified, or, to use his own 
emphatic language, “between nothing to eat and just 
half enough.” He is not, as he forcibly remarks, “ One 
of those fortunate men who, if they were to dive under 
one side of a barge stark -naked, would come up on the 
other with a new suit of clothes on, and a ticket for soup 
in the waistcoat-pocket : ” neither is he one of those, 
whose spirit has been broken beyond redemption by mis- 
fortune and want. He is just one of the careless, good- 
for-nothing, happy fellows, who float, cork -like on the 
surface, for thm world to play at hockey with : knocked 
here, and there, and everywhere : now to the right, then 
to the left, again up in the air, and anon to the bottom, 
but always reappearing and bounding with the stream 
buoyantly and merrily along. Some few months before 
lie was prevailed upon to stand a contested election for 
the office of beadle, necessity attached him to the service 
of a broker; and on the opportunities he here acquired 
of ascertaining the condition of most of the poorer inhab- 
itants of the parish, his patron, the captain, first grounded 
his claims to public support. Chance threw the man in 
our way a short time since. We were, in the first in- 


THE BROKER’S MAN. 


43 


stance, attracted by his prepossessing impudence at the 
election ; we were not surprised, on further acquaint- 
ance, to find him a shrewd knowing fellow, with no 
inconsiderable power of observation ; and, after con- 
versing with him a little, were somewhat struck (as we 
dare say our readers have frequently been in other cases) 
with the power some men seem to have, not only of sym- 
pathizing with, but to all appearance of understanding 
feelings to which they themselves are entire strangers. 
We had been expressing to the new functionary our sur- 
prise that he should ever have served in the capacity to 
which we have just adverted, when we gradually led him 
into one or two professional anecdotes. As we are in- 
duced to think, on reflection, that they will tell better in 
nearly his own words, than with any attempted embel- 
lishments of ours, we will at once entitle them 

MR. BUNG’S NARRATIVE. 

“ It’s very true, as you say, sir,” Mr. Bung commenced, 
“ that a broker’s man’s is not a life to be envied ; and in 
course you know as well as I do, though you don’t say it, 
that people hate and scout ’em because they’re the minis- 
ters of wretchedness, like, to poor people. But what 
could I do, sir ? The thing was no worse because I did 
it, instead of somebody else ; and if putting me in pos- 
session of a house would put me in possession of three- 
and-sixpence a day, and levying a distress on another 
man’s goods would relieve my distress and that of my 
family, it can’t be expected but what I’d take the job and 
go through with it. I never liked it, God knows; I 
always looked out for something else, and the moment 
I got other work to do, I left it If there is anything 
wrong in being the agent in such matters — not the 


44 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


principal, mind you — I’m sure the business, to a begin- 
ner like I was, at all events, carries its own punishment 
along with it. I wished again and again that the people 
would only blow me up, or pitch into me — that I 
wouldn’t have minded, it’s all in my way ; but it’s the 
being shut up by yourself in one room for five days, 
without so much as an old newspaper to look at, or any- 
thing to see out o’ the winder but the roofs and chimneys 
at the back of the house, or anything to listen to, but the 
ticking, perhaps, of an old Dutch clock, the sobbing of 
the missis, now and then, the low talking of friends in 
the next room, who speak in whispers, lest ‘the man’ 
should overhear them, or perhaps the occasional opening 
of the door, as a child peeps in to look at you, and then 
runs half-frightened away — It’s all this, that makes you 
feel sneaking somehow, and ashamed of yourself ; and 
then, if it’s winter time, they just give you fire enough 
to make you think you’d like more, and bring in your 
grub as if they wished it ’ud choke you — as I dare say 
they do, for the matter of that, most heartily. If they’re 
very civil, they make you up a bed in the room at night, 
and if they don’t, your master sends one in for you ; but 
there you are, without being washed or shaved all the 
time, shunned by everybody, and spoken to by no one, 
unless some one comes in at dinner-time, and asks you 
whether you want any more, in a tone as much as to 
say ‘I hope you don't,’ or, in the evening, to inquire 
whether you wouldn’t rather have a candle, after you’ve 
been sitting in the dark half the night. When I was 
left in this way, I used to sit, think, think, thinking, till 
I felt as lonesome as a kitten in a wash-house copper 
with the lid on ; but I believe the old brokers’ men who 
are regularly trained to it, never think at all. I have 


THE BROKER’S MAN. 


45 


heard some on ’em say, indeed, that they don’t know 
how ! 

“ I put in a good many distresses in my time (con- 
tinued Mr. Bung), and in course I wasn’t long in finding, 
that some people are not as much to be pitied as others 
are, and that people with good incomes who get into diffi- 
culties, which they keep patching up day after day, and 
week after week, get so used to these sort of things in 
time, that at last they come scarcely to feel them at all, 
I remember the very first place I was put in possession 
of, was a gentleman’s house in this parish here, that 
everybody would suppose couldn’t help having money if 
he tried. I went with old Fixem, my old master, ’bout 
half arter eight in the morning ; rang the area-bell ; 
servant in livery opened the door : ‘ Governor at home ? ’ 
— ‘ Yes, he is,’ says the man ; 4 but lie’s breakfasting just 
now.’ ‘Never mind,’ says Fixem, ‘just you tell him 
there’s a gentleman here, as wants to speak to him par- 
tickler.’ So the servant he opens liis eyes, and stares 
about him always — looking for the gentleman as it 
struck me, for I don’t think anybody but a man as was 
stone-blind would mistake Fixem for one ; and as for 
me, I was as seedy as a cheap cowcumber. Hows’ever, 
he turns round, and goes to the breakfast-parlor, which 
was a little snug sort of room at the end of the passage, 
and Fixem (as we always did in that profession), without 
waiting to be announced, walks in arter him, and before 
the servant could get out — ‘ Please, sir, here’s a man as 
wants to speak to you,’ looks in at the door as familiar 
and pleasant as may be. ‘ Who the devil are you, and 
how dare you walk into a gentleman’s house without 
leave ? ’ says the master, as fierce as a bull in fits. ‘ My 
name,’ says Fixem, winking to the master to send the 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


46 

servant away, and putting the warrant into his hands 
folded up like a note, 4 My name’s Smith,’ says he, 4 and 
T called from Johnson’s about that business of Thomp- 
son’s ’ — 4 Oh,’ says the other, quite down on him directly, 
4 How is Thompson ? ’ says he ; 4 Pray sit down, Mr. 
Smith : John, leave the room.’ Out went the servant ; 
and the gentleman and Fixem looked at one another till 
they couldn’t look any longer, and then they varied the 
amusements by looking at me, who had been standing on 
the mat all this time. 4 Hundred and fifty pounds, I see,’ 
said the gentleman at last. 4 Hundred and fifty pound,’ 
said Fixem, 4 besides cost of levy, sheriff’s poundage, 
and all other incidental expenses.’ — 4 Um,’ says the 
gentleman, 4 1 sha’n’t be able to settle this before to-mor- 
row afternoon.’ — 4 Very sorry; but I shall be obliged to 
leave my man here till then,’ replies Fixem, pretending 
to look very miserable over it. 4 That’s very unfort’nate,’ 
says the gentleman, 4 for I have got a large party here 
to-night, and I’m ruined if those fellows of mine get an 
inkling of the matter — just step here, Mr. Smith,’ says 
he, after a short pause. So Fixem walks with him up 
to the window, and after a good deal of whispering, and 
a little chinking of suverins, and looking at me, he comes 
back and says, 4 Bung, you’re a handy fellow, and very 
honest I know. This gentleman wants an assistant to 
clean the plate and wait at table to-day, and if you're 
not particularly engaged,’ says old Fixem, grinning like 
mad, and shoving a couple of suverins into my hand, 
he’ll be very glad to avail himself of your services.’ 
Well, I laughed : and the gentleman laughed, and we all 
laughed ; and I went home and cleaned myself, leaving 
Fixem there, and when I went back, Fixem went away, 
and I polished up the plate, and waited at table, and 


THE BROKER’S MAN. 


47 


gammoned the servants, and nobody had the least idea 1 
was in possession, though it very nearly came out after 
all ; for one of the last gentlemen who remained, came 
down-stairs into the hall where I was sitting pretty late 
at night, and putting half-a-crown into my hand, says, 
4 Here my man/ says he, 4 run and get me a coach, will 
you ? ’ I thought it was a do, to get me out of the house, 
and was just going to say so, sulkily enough, when the 
gentleman (who was up to everything) came running 
down-stairs, as if he was in great anxiety. 4 Bung, 
says he, pretending to be in a consuming passion. 4 Sir/ 
says I. 4 Why the devil a’n’t you looking after that 
plate ?’ — 4 1 was just going to send him for a coach for 
me/ says the other gentleman. 4 And I was just agoing 
to say/ says I — 4 Anybody else, my dear fellow/ inter- 
rupts the master of the home, pushing me down the pas- 
sage to get out of the way — 4 anybody else ; but I have 
put this man in possession of all the plate and valuables, 
and I cannot allow him on any consideration whatever, 
to leave the house. Bung, you scoundrel, go and count 
those forks in the breakfast-parlor instantly.’ You may 
be sure I went laughing pretty hearty when I found it 
was all right. The money was paid next day, with the 
addition of something else for myself, and that was the 
best job that I (and I suspect old Fixem too) ever got 
in that line. 

44 But this is the bright side of the picture, sir, after 
all,” resumed Mr. Bung, laying aside the knowing look, 
and flash air, with which he had repeated the previous 
anecdote — 44 and I’m sorry to say, it’s the side one sees 
very, very, seldom, in comparison with the dark one. 
The civility which money will purchase, is rarely extend- 
ed to those who have none ; and there’s a consolation 


48 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


even in being able to patch up one difficulty, to make 
way for another, to which very poor people are strangers. 
I was once put into a house down George’s Yard — that 
little dirty court at the back of the gas-works ; and I 
never shall forget the misery of them people, dear me ! 
It was a distress for half a year’s rent — two pound ten I 
think. There was only two rooms in the house, and as 
there was no passage, the lodgers up-stairs always went 
through the room of the people of the house, as they 
passed in and out ; and every time they did so — which, 
on the average, was about four times every quarter of an 
hour — they blowed up quite frightful : for their things 
had been seized too, and included in the inventory. 
There was a little piece of inclosed dust in front of the 
house, with a cinder-path leading up to the door, and an 
open rain-water butt on one side. A dirty striped cur- 
tain, on a very slack string, hung in the window, and a 
little triangular bit of broken looking-glass rested on the 
sill inside. I suppose it was meant for the people’s use, 
but their appearance was so wretched, and so miserable, 
that I’m certain they never could have plucked up cour- 
age to look themselves in the face a second time, if they 
survived the fright of doing so once. There was two or 
three chairs, that might have been worth, in their best 
days, from eightpence to a shilling a-piece ; a small 
deal table, an old corner cupboard with nothing in it, and 
one of those bedsteads which turn up half way, and leave 
the bottom legs sticking out for you to knock your head 
against, or hang your hat upon ; no bed, no bedding. 
There was an old sack, by way of rug, before the fire- 
place, and four or five children were grovelling about, 
among the sand on the floor. The execution was only 
put in to get ’em out of the house, for there was nothing 


THE BROKER’S MAN. 


49 


to take to pay the expenses ; and here I stopped for 
three days, though that was a mere form too: for, in 
course, I knew, and we all knew, they could never pay 
the money. In one of the chairs, by the side of the 
place where the fire ought to have been, was an old 
’ooman — the ugliest and dirtiest I ever see — who sat 
rocking herself backwards and forwards, backwards and 
forwards, without once stopping, except for an instant 
now and then, to clasp together the withered hands 
which, with these exceptions, she kept constantly rub- 
bing upon her knees, just raising and depressing her 
lingers convulsively, in time to the rocking of the chair. 
On the other side sat the mother with an infant in her 
arms, which cried till it cried itself to sleep, and when 
it ’woke, cried till it cried itself off again. The old 
’ooman’s voice I never heard : she seemed completely 
stupefied ; and as to the mother’s, it would have been bet- 
ter if she had been so too, for misery had changed her to 
a devil. If you had heard how she cursed the little 
naked children as was rolling on the floor, and seen how 
savagely she struck the infant when it cried with hunger, 
you’d have shuddered as much as I did. There they re- 
mained all the time : the children ate a morsel of bread 
once or twice, and I gave ’em best part of the dinners 
my missis brought me, but the woman ate nothing ; they 
never even laid on the bedstead, nor was the room swept 
or cleaned all the time. The neighbors were all too poor 
themselves to take any notice of ’em, but from what I 
could make out from the abuse of the woman up-stairs, 
it seemed the husband had been transported a few weeks 
before. When the time was up, the landlord and old 
Fixem too, got rather frightened about the family, and 
bo they made a stir about it, and had ’em taken to the 
VOL. i. 4 


50 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


workhouse. They sent the sick couch for the old ’ooman, 
and Simmons took the children away at night. The 
ooman went into the infirmary, and very soon died. The 
children are all in the house to this day, and very com- 
fortable they are in comparison. As to the mother, there 
was no taming her at all. She had been a quiet, hard- 
working woman, I believe, but her misery had actually 
drove her wild ; so after she had been sent to the house 
of correction half-a-dozen times, for throwing inkstands 
at the overseers, blaspheming the churchwardens, and 
smashing everybody as come near her, she burst a blood- 
vessel one mornin’, and died too ; and a happy release it 
was, both for herself and the old paupers, male and female, 
which she used to tip over in all directions, as if they 
were so many skittles, and she the ball. 

“ Now this was bad enough,” resumed Mr. Bung, tak- 
ing a half step towards the door, as if to intimate that he 
had nearly concluded. “ This was bad enough, but 
there was a sort of quiet misery — if you understand 
what I mean by that, sir — about a lady at one house I 
was put into, as touched me a good deal more. It 
doesn’t matter where it was exactly : indeed, I’d rather 
not say, but it was the same sort o’ job. I went with 
Fixem in the usual way — there was a year’s rent in 
arrear ; a very small servant-girl opened the door, and 
three or four fine-looking little children was in the front 
parlor We were shown into, which was very clean, but 
very scantily furnished, much like the children them- 
selves. 4 Bung,’ says Fixem to me, in a low voice, when 
we were left alone for a minute, 4 1 know something 
about this here family, and my opinion is, it’s no go. 

4 Do you think they can’t settle ?’ says I, quite anxiously ; 
for I liked the looks of them children. Fixem shook his 


THE BROKER’S MAN. 


51 


head, and was just about to reply, when the door opened, 
and in came a lady, as white as ever I see any one in my 
days, except about the eyes, which were red with crying. 
She walked in, as firm as I could have done ; shut the 
door carefully after her, and sat herself down with a face 
as composed as if it was made of stone. 4 What is the 
i natter, gentlemen ? * says she, in a surprisin’ steady 
voice. 4 Is this an execution ? ’ — ‘It is, mum/ says 
Fixem. The lady looked at him as steady as ever : she 
didn’t seem to have understood him. 4 It is, mum,’ says 
Fixem again ; 4 this is my warrant of distress, mum,’ 
says he, handing it over as polite as if it was a news- 
paper which had been bespoke arter the next gentleman. 

“ The lady’s lip trembled as she took the printed 
paper. She cast her eye over it, and old Fixem began 
to explain the form, but I saw she wasn’t reading it, 
plain enough, poor thing. 4 Oh, my God ! ’ says she, sud- 
denly a-bursting out crying, letting the warrant fall, and 
hiding her face in her hands. 4 Oh, my God ! what will 
become of us ! ' The noise she made, brought in a 
young lady of about nineteen or twenty, w T ho, I suppose, 
had been a-listening at the door, and who had got a little 
boy in her arms : she sat him down in the lady’s lap, 
without speaking, and she hugged the poor little fellow 
to her bosom, and cried over him, ’till even old Fixem 
put on his blue spectacles to hide the two tears that was 
a-trickling down, one on each side of his dirty face. 
4 Now, dear ma,’ says the young lady, 4 you know how 
much you have borne. For all our sakes — for pa’s 
sake,’ says she, 4 don’t give way to this ! ’ — 4 No, no, I 
won’t ! ’ says the lady, gathering herself up hastily, and 
drying her eyes ; 4 1 am very foolish, but I’m better now 
—-much better.’ And then she roused herself up, went 


52 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


with as into every room while we took the inventory, 
opened all the drawers of her own accord, sorted the 
children’s little clothes to make the work easier ; and, 
except doing everything in a strange sort of hurry, 
seemed as calm and composed as if nothing had hap- 
pened. When we came down-stairs again, she hesitated 
a minute or two, and at last says, 4 Gentlemen,’ says she, 
4 I am afraid I have done wrong, and perhaps it may 
bring you into trouble. I secreted just now,’ she says, 
4 the only trinket I have left in the world — here it is.’ 
So she lays down on the table, a little miniature mounted 
in gold. 4 It’s a miniature,’ she says, 4 of my poor dear 
father ! I little thought once, that I should ever thank 
God for depriving me of the original ; but I do, and have 
done for years back, most fervently. Take it away, sir,’ 
she says, 4 it’s a face that never turned from me in sick- 
ness or distress, and I can hardly bear to turn from it 
now, when, God knows, I suffer both in no ordinary de- 
gree.’ I couldn’t say nothing, but I raised my head from 
the inventory which I was filling up, and looked at 
Fixem ; the old fellow nodded to me significantly, so I 
ran my pen through the 4 Mini ’ I had just written, and 
left the miniature on the table. 

44 Well, sir, to make short of a long story, I was left in 
possession, and in possession I remained ; and though I 
was an ignorant man, and the master of the house a 
clever one, I saw what he never did, but what he would 
give worlds now (if he had ’em) to have seen in time, 
I saw, sir, that his wife was wasting away, beneath cares 
of which she never complained, and griefs she never told. 
I saw that she was dying before his eyes ; I knew that 
one exertion from him might have saved her, but he 
never made • it. I don’t blame him ; I don’t think he 


THE BROKER’S MAN. 


53 


could rouse himself. She had so long anticipated all his 
wishes, and acted for him, that he was a lost man when 
left to himself. I used to think when I caught sight of 
her, in the clothes she used to wear, which looked shabby 
even upon her, and would have been scarcely decent on 
any one else, that if I was a gentleman it would wring 
my very heart to see the woman that was a smart and 
merry girl when I courted her, so altered through her 
love for me. Bitter cold and damp weather it was, yet, 
though her dress was thin, and her shoes none of the 
best, during the whole three days, from morning to night, 
she was out of doors running about to try and raise the 
money. The money was raised, and the execution was 
paid out. The whole family crowded into the room 
where I was, when the money arrived. The father was 
quite happy as the inconvenience was removed — I dare 
say he didn’t know how ; the children looked merry and 
cheerful again ; the eldest girl was bustling about, mak- 
ing preparations for the first comfortable meal they had 
had since the distress was put in ; and the mother looked 
pleased to see them all so. But if ever I saw death in 
a woman’s face, I saw it in hers that night. 

“ I was right, sir,” continued Mr. Bung, hurriedly pass- 
ing his coat-sleeve over his face, “ the family grew more 
prosperous, and good fortune arrived. But it was too 
late. Those children are motherless now, and their 
father would give up all he has since gained — house, 
home, goods, money : all that he has, or ever can have, 
io restore the wife he has lost.” 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


54 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE LADIES* SOCIETIES. 

Our Parish is very prolific in ladies* charitable institu- 
tions. In winter, when wet feet are common and colds not 
scarce, we have the ladies’ soup distribution society, the 
ladies’ coal distribution society, and the ladies’ blanket 
distribution society ; in summer, when stone fruits flour- 
ish and stomach aches prevail, we have the ladies’ dis- 
pensary, and the ladies sick visitation committee ; and all 
the year round we have the ladies’ child’s examination 
society, the ladies’ bible and prayer-book circulation 
society, and the ladies’ childbed-linen monthly loan so- 
ciety. The two latter are decidedly the most important ; 
whether they are productive of more benefit than the 
rest, is not for us to say, but we can take upon ourselves 
to affirm, with the utmost solemnity, that they create a 
greater stir, and more bustle than all the others put to- 
gether. 

We should be disposed to affirm, on the first blush of 
the matter, that the bible and prayer-book society is not 
so popular as the childbed-linen society ; the bible and 
prayer-book society has, however, considerably increased 
in importance within the last year or two, having derived 
some adventitious aid from the factious opposition of the 
child’s examination society ; which factious opposition 
originated in manner following : — When the young 
curate was popular, and all the unmarried ladies in 
the parish took a serious turn, the charity children all at 


THE LADIES’ SOCIETIES. 


55 


once became objects of peculiar and especial interest. 
The three Miss Browns (enthusiastic admirers of the 
curate) taught, and exercised, and examined and reex- 
amined the unfortunate children, until the boys grew 
pale, and the girls consumptive with study and fatigue. 
The three Miss Browns stood it out very well, because 
they relieved each other ; but the children, having no 
relief at all, exhibited decided symptoms of weariness 
and care. The unthinking part of the parishioners 
laughed at all this, but the more reflective portion of the 
inhabitants abstained from expressing any opinion on 
the subject until that of the curate had been clearly 
ascertained. 

The opportunity was not long wanting. The curate 
preached a charity sermon on behalf of the charity school, 
and in the charity sermon aforesaid, expatiated in glow- 
ing terms on the praiseworthy and indefatigable exertions 
of certain estimable individuals. Sobs were heard to 
issue from the three Miss Browns’ pew ; the pew-opener 
of the division was seen to hurry down the centre aisle 
to the vestry-door, and to return immediately, bearing a 
glass of water in her hand. A low moaning ensued ; 
two more pew-openers rushed to the spot, and the three 
Miss Browns, each supported by a pew-opener, were led 
out of the church, and led in again after the lapse of five 
minutes with white pocket-handkerchiefs to their eyes, as 
if they had been attending a funeral in the churchyard 
adjoining. If any doubt had for a moment existed, as to 
whom the allusion was intended to apply, it was at once 
removed. The wish to enlighten the charity children 
became universal, and the three Miss Browns were 
unanimously besought to divide the school into classes, 
and to assign each class to the superintendence of two 
young ladies. 


56 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


A little learning is a dangerous thing, but a little pat- 
ronage is more so ; the three Miss Browns appointed all 
the old maids, and carefully excluded the young ones. 
Maiden aunts triumphed, mammas were reduced to the 
lowest depth of despair, and there is no telling in what 
act of violence the general indignation against the three 
Miss Browns might have vented itself, had not a per- 
fectly providential occurrence changed the tide of public 
feeling. Mrs. Johnson Parker, the mother of seven ex- 
tremely fine girls — all unmarried — hastily reported to 
several other mammas of several other unmarried fami- 
lies, that five old men, six old women, and children innu- 
merable, in the free seats near her pew, were in the habit 
of coming to church every Sunday, without either bible 
or prayer-book. Was this to be borne in a civilized 
country ? Could such things be tolerated in a Christian 
land ? Never ! A ladies’ bible and prayer-book distri- 
bution society was instantly formed : president, Mrs. 
Johnson Parker ; treasurers, auditors, and secretary, the 
Misses Johnson Parker : subscriptions were entered into, 
books were bought, all the free-seat people provided 
therewith, and when the first lesson was given out, on 
the first Sunday succeeding these events, there was such 
a dropping of books, and rustling of leaves, that it was 
morally impossible to hear one word of the service for 
five minutes afterwards. 

The three Miss Browns, and their party, saw the ap- 
proaching danger, and endeavored to avert it by ridicule 
and sarcasm. Neither the old men nor the old women 
could read their books now they had got them, said the 
three Miss Browns. Never mind ; they could learn, 
replied Mrs. Johnson Parker. The children couldn’t 
read either, suggested the three Miss Browns. No mat- 


THE LADIES’ SOCIETIES. 


57 


ter ; they could be taught, retorted Mrs. Johnson Parker. 
A balance of parties took place. The Miss Browns 
publicly examined — popular feeling inclined to the 
child’s examination society. The Miss Johnson Parkers 
publicly distributed — a reaction took place in favor of 
the prayer-book distribution. A feather would have 
turned the scale, and a feather did turn it. A mission- 
ary returned from the West Indies ; he was to be pre- 
sented to the Dissenters’ Missionary Society on his mar- 
riage with a wealthy widow. Overtures were made to 
the Dissenters by the Johnson Parkers. Their object 
was the same, and why not have a joint meeting of the 
two societies ? The proposition was accepted. The 
meeting was duly heralded by public announcement, and 
the room was crowded to suffocation. The missionary 
appeared on the platform ; he was hailed with enthu- 
siasm. He repeated a dialogue he had heard between 
two negroes, behind a hedge, on the subject of distribu- 
tion societies ; the approbation was tumultuous. He 
gave an imitation of the two negroes in broken English ; 
the roof was rent with applause. From that period we 
date (with one trifling exception) a daily increase in the 
popularity of the distribution society, and an increase of 
popularity, which the feeble and impotent opposition of 
the examination party, has only tended to augment. 

Now, the great points about the childbed-linen monthly 
loan society are, that it is less dependent on the fluctua- 
tions of public opinion than either the distribution or the 
child’s examination ; and that, come what may, ther e is 
never any lack of objects on which to exercise its benev- 
olence. Our parish is a very populous one, and, if any- 
thing, contributes, we should be disposed to say, rather 
more than its due share to the aggregate amou nt of births 


58 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


in the metropolis and its environs. The consequence is, 
that the monthly loan society flourishes, and invests its 
members with a most enviable amount of bustling patron- 
age. The society (whose only notion of dividing time, 
would appear to be its allotment into months) holds 
monthly tea-drinkings, at which the monthly report is 
received, a secretary elected for the month ensuing, and 
such of the monthly boxes as may not happen to be out 
on .loan for the month, carefully examined. 

We were never present at one of these meetings, from 
all of which it is scarcely necessary to say, gentlemen are 
carefully excluded ; but Mr. Bung had been called before 
the board once or twice, and we have his authority for 
stating, that its proceedings are conducted with great 
order and regularity : not more than four members being 
allowed to speak at one time on any pretence whatever. 
The regular committee is composed exclusively of mar- 
ried ladies, but a vast number of young unmarried ladies 
of from eighteen to twenty-five years of age, respectively, 
are admitted as honorary members, partly because they 
are very useful in replenishing the boxes, and visiting 
the confined ; partly because it is highly desirable that 
they should be initiated, at an early period, into the more 
serious and matronly duties of after-life ; and partly 
because, prudent mammas have not unfrequently been 
known to turn this circumstance to wonderfully good 
account in matrimonial speculations. 

In addition to the loan of the monthly boxes (which 
are always painted blue, with the name of the society in 
large white letters on the lid), the society dispense occa- 
sional grants of beef-tea, and a composition of warm beer 
spice, eggs, and sugar, commonly known by the name of 
“ caudle,” to its patients. And here again the services 


THE LADIES’ SOCIETIES. 


59 


of the honorary members are called into requisition, and 
most cheerfully conceded. Deputations of twos or threes 
are sent out to visit the patients, and on these occasions 
there is such a tasting of caudle and beef-tea, such a stir- 
ring about of little messes in tiny saucepans on the hob, 
such a dressing and undressing of infants, such a tying, 
and folding, and pinning ; such a nursing and warming 
of little legs and feet before the fire, such a delightful 
confusion of talking and cooking, bustle, importance, and 
officiousness, as never can be enjoyed in its full extent 
but on similar occasions. 

In rivalry of these two institutions, and as a last expir- 
ing effort to acquire parochial popularity, the child’s 
examination people determined, the other day, on having 
a grand public examination of the pupils ; and the large 
school-room of the national seminary was, by and with 
the consent of the parish authorities, devoted to the pur- 
pose. Invitation circulars were forwarded to all the 
principal parishioners, including, of course, the heads of 
the other two societies, for whose especial behoof and edi- 
fication the display was intended ; and a large audience 
was confidently anticipated on the occasion. The floor 
was carefully scrubbed the day before, under the imme- 
diate superintendence of the three Miss Browns ; forms 
were placed across the room for the accommodation of 
the visitors, specimens in writing were carefully selected, 
and as carefully patched and touched up, until they 
astonished the children who had written them, rather 
more than the company who read them ; sums in com- 
pound addition were rehearsed and re-rehearsed until all 
the children had the totals by heart ; and the prepara- 
tions altogether were on the most laborious and most 
comprehensive scale. The morning arrived : the chil- 


60 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


dren were yellow-soaped and flannelled, and towelled, 
till their faces shone again ; every pupil’s hair was care- 
fully combed into his or her eyes, as the case might be ; 
the girls were adorned with snow-white tippets, and caps 
bound round the head by a single purple ribbon : the 
necks of the elder boys were fixed into collars of start- 
ling dimensions. 

The doors were thrown open, and the Misses Brown 
and Co. were discovered in plain white muslin dresses, 
and caps of the same — the child’s examination uniform. 
The room filled : the greetings of the company were loud 
and cordial. The distributionists trembled, for their 
popularity was at stake. The eldest boy fell forward, 
and delivered a propitiatory address from behind his col- 
lar. It was from the pen of Mr. Henry Brown ; the 
applause was universal, and the Johnson Parkers were 
aghast. The examination proceeded with success, and 
terminated in triumph. The child’s examination society 
gained a momentary victory, and the Johnson Parkers 
retreated in despair. 

A secret council of the distributionists was held that 
night, with Mrs. Johnson Parker in the chair, to consider 
of the best means of recovering the ground they had lost 
in the favor of the parish. What could be done ? An- 
other meeting ! Alas ! who was to attend it ? The 
Missionary would not do twice ; and the slaves were 
emancipated. A bold step must be taken. The parish 
must be astonished in some way or other ; but no one 
was able to suggest what the step should be. At length, 
a very old lady was heard to mumble, in indistinct tones, 
“ Exeter Hall.” A sudden light broke in upon the meet- 
ing. It was unanimously resolved, that a deputation of 
old ladies should wait upon a celebrated orator, implor- 


OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. 


61 


ing his assistance, and the favor of a speech ; and that 
the deputation should also wait on two or three othei 
imbecile old women, not resident in the parish, and en- 
treat tlieir attendance. The application was successful, 
the meeting was held : the orator (an Irishman) came. 
He talked of green isles — other shores — vast Atlantic 
— bosom of the deep — Christian charity — blood and 
extermination — - mercy in hearts — arms in hands — al- 
tars and homes — household gods. He wiped his eye s, 
he blew his nose, and he quoted Latin. The effect was 
tremendous — the Latin was a decided hit. Nobody 
knew exactly what it was about, but everybody knew it 
must be affecting, because even the orator was overcome. 
The popularity of the distribution society among the 
ladies of our parish is unprecedented ; and the child’s 
examination is going fast to decay. 


CHAPTER VII. 

OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. 

We are very fond of speculating, as we walk through 
a street, on the character and pursuits of the people who 
inhabit it ; and nothing so materially assists us in these 
speculations as the appearance of the hom-e-doors. The 
various expressions of the human countenance afford a 
beautiful and interesting study ; but there is something 
in the physiognomy of street-door knockers, almost as 
characteristic, and nearly as infallible. Whenever we 
visit a man for the first time, we contemplate the Heat- 


62 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


ures of his knocker with the greatest curiosity, for we 
well know, that between the man and his knocker, there 
will inevitably be a greater or less degree of resemblance 
and sympathy. 

For instance, there is one description of knocker that 
used to be common enough, but which is fast passing 
away — a large round one, with the jolly face of a con- 
vivial lion smiling blandly at you, as you twist the sides 
of your hair into a curl, or pull up your shirt-collar 
while you are waiting for the door to be opened ; we 
never saw that knocker on the door of a churlish man — 
so far as our experience is concerned, it invariably be- 
spoke hospitality and another bottle. 

No man ever saw this knocker on the door of a small 
attorney or bill-broker ; they always patronize the other 
lion ; a heavy ferocious-looking fellow, with a counte- 
nance expressive of savage stupidity — a sort of grand 
master among the knockers, and a great favorite with the 
selfish and brutal. 

Then there is a little pert Egyptian knocker, with a 
long thin face, a pinched-up nose, and a very sharp chin ; 
he is most in vogue with your government-office people, 
in light drabs and starched cravats : little spare priggish 
men, who are perfectly satisfied with their own opinions, 
and consider themselves of paramount importance. 

We were greatly troubled a few years ago, by the inno- 
vation of a new kind of knocker, without any face at all, 
composed of a wreath, depending from a hand or small 
truncheon. A little trouble and attention, however, en- 
abled us to overcome this difficulty, and to reconcile the 
»iew system to our favorite theory. You will invariably 
find this knocker on the doors of cold and formal people, 
who always ask you why you don't come, and never 
say do. 


OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. 


63 


Everybody knows the brass knocker is common to sub- 
urban villas, and extensive boarding-schools ; and having 
noticed this genus we have recapitulated all the most 
prominent and strongly-defined species. 

Some phrenologists affirm, that the agitation of a 
man’s brain by different passions, produces correspond- 
ing developments in the form of his skull. Do not let us 
be understood as pushing our theory to the length of 
asserting, that any alteration in a man’s disposition would 
produce a visible effect on the feature of his knocker. 
Our position merely is, that in such a case, the magnet- 
ism which must exist between a man and his knocker, 
would induce the man to remove, and seek some knocker 
more congenial to his altered feelings. If you ever find 
a man changing his habitation without any reasonable 
pretext, depend upon it, that, although he may not be 
aware of the fact himself, it is because he and his 
knocker are at variance. This is a new theory, but we 
venture to launch it, nevertheless, as being quite as 
ingenious and infallible as many thousand of the learned 
speculations which are daily broached for public good 
and private fortune-making. 

Entertaining these feelings on the subject of knockers, 
it will be readily imagined with what consternation we 
viewed the entire removal of the knocker from the door 
Df the next house to the one we lived in, some time ago, 
and the substitution of a bell. This was a calamity we had 
never anticipated. The bare idea of anybody being able 
to exist without a knocker, appeared so wild and vision- 
ary, that it had never for one instant entered our imagi- 
nation. 

We sauntered moodily from the spot, and bent our 
steps towards Eaton Square, then just building. What 


64 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


was our astonishment and indignation to find that bells 
were fast becoming the rule, and knockers the exception ! 
Our theory trembled beneath the shock. We hastened 
home ; and fancying we foresaw in the swift progress of 
events, its entire abolition, resolved from that day for- 
ward to vent our speculations on our next-door neighbors 
in person. The house adjoining ours on the left hand 
was uninhabited, and we had, therefore, plenty of leisure 
to observe our next-door neighbors on the other side. 

The house without the knocker was in the occupation 
of a city clerk, and there was a neatly written bill in the 
parlor window intimating that lodgings for a single gen- 
tleman were to be let within. 

It was a neat, dull little house, on the shady side of 
the way, with new, narrow floor-cloth in the passage, and 
new, narrow stair-carpets up to the first floor. The paper 
was new, and the paint was new, and the furniture was 
new ; and all three, paper, paint, and furniture, bespoke 
the limited means of the tenant. There was a little red 
and black carpet in the drawing-room, with a border of 
flooring all the way round ; a few stained chairs and a 
pembroke table. A pink shell was displayed on each of 
the little sideboards, which, with the addition of a tea- 
tray and caddy, a few more shells on the mantel-piece, 
and three peacock’s feathers tastefully arranged above 
them, completed the decorative furniture of the apart- 
ment. 

This was the room destined for the reception of the 
single gentleman during the day, and a little backroom 
on the same floor was assigned as his sleeping apartment 
by night. 

The bill had not been long in the window, when a 
stout good-humored looking gentleman, of about five-and- 


65 


OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. 

thirty, appeared as a candidate for the tenancy. Terms 
were soon arranged, for the bill was taken down imme- 
diately after his first visit. In a day or two the single 
gentleman came in, and shortly afterwards his real char- 
acter came out. 

First of all, he displayed a most extraordinary par- 
tiality for sitting up till three or four o’clock in the morn- 
ing, drinking whiskey and water, and smoking cigars ; 
then he invited friends home, who used to come at ten 
o’clock, and begin to get happy about the small hours, 
when they evinced their perfect contentment by singing 
songs with half a dozen verses of two lines each, and a 
chorus of ten, which chorus used to be shouted forth by 
the whole strength of the company, in the most enthusi- 
astic and vociferous manner, to the great annoyance of the 
neighbors, and the special discomfort of another single 
gentleman overhead. 

Now, this was bad enough, occurring as it did three 
times a week on the average, but this was not all ; for 
when the company did go away, instead of walking 
quietly down the street, as anybody else’s company would 
have done, they amused themselves by making alarming 
and frightful noises, and counterfeiting the shrieks of 
females in distress ; and one night, a red-faced gentle- 
man in a white hat knocked in the most urgent manner 
at the door of the powdered-headed old gentleman at 
No. 3, and when the powdered-headed old gentleman, 
who thought one of his married daughters must have 
been taken ill prematurely, had groped down-stairs, and 
after a great deal of unbolting and key-turning, opened 
the street-door, the red-faced man in the white hat said 
he hoped he’d excuse his giving him so much trouble, 
but he’d feel obliged if heM favor him with a glass of 
5 


VOL. I. 


66 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


cold spring water, and the loan of a shilling for a cab to 
take him home, on which the old gentleman slammed the 
door and went up-stairs, and threw the contents of his 
water jug out of window — very straight, only it went 
over the wrong man ; and the whole street was involved 
in confusion. 

A joke’s a joke ; and even practical jests are very 
capital in their way, if you can only get the other party 
to see the fun of them ; but the population of our street 
were so dull of apprehension, as to be quite lost to a 
sense of the drollery of this proceeding ; and the conse- 
quence was, that our next-door neighbor was obliged to 
tell the single gentleman, that unless he gave up enter- 
taining his friends at home, he really must be compelled 
to part with him. The single gentleman received the 
remonstrance with great good-humor, and promised from 
that time forward, to spend his evenings at a coffee-house 
— a determination which afforded general and unmixed 
satisfaction. 

The next night passed off very well, everybody being 
delighted with the change ; but on the next, the noises 
were renewed with greater spirit than ever. The single 
gentleman’s friends being unable to see him in his own 
house every alternate night, had come to the determina- 
tion of seeing him home every night ; and what with the 
discordant greetings of the friends at parting, and the 
noise created by the single gentleman in his passage up- 
stairs, and his subsequent struggles to get his boots off, 
the evil was not to be borne. So, our next-door neigh- 
bor gave the single gentleman, who was a very good 
lodged in other respects, notice to quit ; and the single 
gentleman went away, and entertained his friends in 
other lodgings. 


OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. 


67 


The next applicant for the vacant first floor, was of a 
very different character from the troublesome single gen- 
tleman who had just quitted it. He was a tall, thin 
young gentleman, with a profusion of brown hair, reddish 
whiskers, and very slightly developed moustaches. He 
wore a braided surtout, with frogs behind, light gray 
trousers, and wash-leather gloves, and had altogether 
rather a military appearance. So unlike the roystering 
single gentleman ! Such insinuating manners, and such 
a delightful address ! So seriously disposed, too ! When 
he first came to look at the lodgings, he inquired most 
particularly whether he was sure to be able to get a seat in 
the parish church ; and when he had agreed to take them, 
he requested to have a list of the different local charities, 
as he intended to subscribe his mite to the most deserv- 
ing among them. Our next-door neighbor was now per- 
fectly happy. He had got a lodger at last,* of just his 
own way of thinking — a serious, well-disposed man, 
who abhorred gayety, and loved retirement. He took 
down the bill with a light heart, and pictured in imagi- 
nation a long series of quiet Sundays, on which he and 
his lodger would exchange mutual civilities and Sunday 
papers. 

The serious man arrived, and his luggage was to arrive 
from the country next morning. He borrowed a clean 
shirt, and a prayer-book, from our next-door neighbor, 
and retired to rest at an early hour, requesting that he 
might be called punctually at ten o’clock next morning 
*— not before, as he was much fatigued. 

He was called, and did not answer : he was called 
again, but there was no reply. Our next-door neighbor 
became alarmed, and burst the door open. The serious 
man had left the house mysteriously ; carrying with him 


68 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


the shirt, the prayer-book, a teaspoon, and the bed- 
clothes. 

Whether this occurrence, coupled with the irregulari- 
ties of his former lodger, gave our next-door neighbor an 
aversion to single gentlemen, we know not ; we only know 
that the next bill which made its appearance in the par- 
lor-window intimated generally, that there were furnished 
apartments to let on the first floor. The bill was soon 
removed. The new lodgers at first attracted our curi- 
osity, and afterwards excited our interest. 

They were a young lad of eighteen or nineteen, and 
his mother, a lady of about fifty, or it might be less. 
The mother wore a widow’s weeds, and the boy was also 
clothed in deep mourning. They were poor — very 
poor ; for their only means of support arose from the 
pittance the boy earned, by copying writings, and trans- 
lating for booksellers. 

They had removed from some country place and set- 
tled in London ; partly because it afforded better chances 
of employment for the boy, and partly, perhaps, with the 
natural desire to leave a place where they had been in 
better circumstances, and where their poverty was 
known. They were proud under their reverses, and 
above revealing their wants and privations to strangers. 
How bitter those privations were, and how hard the boy 
worked to remove them, no one ever knew but them- 
selves. Night after night, two, three, four hours after 
midnight, could we hear the occasional raking up of the 
scanty fire, or the hollow and half-stifled cough, which 
indicated his being still at work ; and day after day, 
could we see more plainly that nature had set that un- 
earthly light in his plaintive face, which is the beacon of 
her worst disease. 


OUR NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOR. 


69 


Actuated, we hope, by a higher feeling than mere 
curiosity, we contrived to establish, first an acquaintance, 
and then a close intimacy, with the poor strangers. Our 
worst fears were realized ; the boy was sinking fast. 
Through a part of the winter, and the whole of the fol- 
lowing spring and summer, his labors were unceasingly 
prolonged : and the mother attempted to procure needle- 
work embroidery — anything for bread. 

A few shillings now and then, were all she could earn. 
The boy worked steadily on ; dying by minutes, but never 
once giving utterance to complaint or murmur. 

One beautiful autumn evening we went to pay our 
customary visit to the invalid. His little remaining 
strength had been decreasing rapidly for two or three 
days preceding, and he was lying on the sofa at the open 
window, gazing at the setting sun. His mother had been 
reading the Bible to him, for she closed the book as we 
entered, and advanced to meet us. 

“ I was telling William,” she said, “ that we must 
manage to take him into the country somewhere, so that 
he may get quite well. He is not ill, you know, but he 
is not very strong, and has exerted himself too much 
lately.” Poor thing ! The tears that streamed through 
her fingers, as she turned aside, as if to adjust her close 
widow’s cap, too plainly showed how fruitless was the 
attempt to deceive herself. 

We sat down by the head of the sofa, but said nothing, 
for we saw the breath of life was passing gently but 
rapidly from the young form before us. At every respi- 
ration, his heart beat more slowly. 

The boy placed one hand in ours, grasped his mother’s 
arm with the other, drew her hastily towards him, and 
fervently kissed her cheek. There was a pause. He 


70 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Bunk back upon his pillow, and looked long and earnestly 
in his mother’s face. 

“ William, William : ” murmured the mother after a 
long interval, “ don’t look at me so — speak to me, 
dear ! ” 

The boy smiled languidly, but an instant afterwards 
his features resolved into the same cold, solemn gaze. 

“ William, dear William ! rouse yourself, dear ; don’t 
look at me so, love — pray don’t ! Oh, my God ! what 
shall I do ! ” cried the widow, clasping her hands in 
agony — “ my dear boy ! he is dying ! ” 

The boy raised himself by a violent effort, and folded 
his hands together — “ Mother ! dear, dear mother, bury 
me in the open fields — anywhere but in these dreadful 
streets. I should like to be where you can see my grave, 
but not in these close crowded streets ; they have killed 
me ; kiss me again, mother ; put your arm round my 
neck — ” 

He fell back, and a strange expression stole upon his 
features ; not of pain or suffering, but an indescribable 
fixing of every line and muscle. 

The boy was dead. 


THE STREETS — MORNING. 


71 


SCENES. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE STREETS — MORNING. 

The appearance presented by the stre,*ets of London 
an hour before sunrise, on a summer’s morning, is most 
striking even to the few whose unfortunate pursuits of 
pleasure, or scarcely less unfortunate pursuits of busi- 
ness, cause them to be well acquainted with the scene. 
There is an air of cold, solitary desolation about the 
noiseless streets which w r e are accustomed to see thronged 
at other times by a busy, eager crowd, and over the 
quiet, closely-shut buildings, which throughout the day 
are swarming with life and bustle, that is very im- 
pressive. 

The last drunken man, who shall find his way home 
before sunlight, has just staggered heavily along, roaring 
out the burden of the drinking-song of the previous 
night: the last houseless vagrant whom penury and 
police have left in the streets, has coiled up his chilly 
limbs in some paved corner, to dream of food and 
warmth. The drunken, the dissipated, and the wretched 
have disappeared ; the more sober and orderly part of 
the population have not yet awakened to the labors of 
the day, and the stillness of death is ov( r the streets ; its 
very hue seems to be imparted to them, cold and lifeless 


72 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


as they look in the gray, sombre light of daybreak. The 
coach-stands in the larger thoroughfares are deserted : 
the night-houses are closed ; and the chosen promenades 
of profligate misery are empty. 

An occasional policeman may alone be seen at the 
street-corners, listlessly gazing on the deserted prospect 
before him ; and now and then a rakish-looking cat runs 
stealthily across the road and descends his own area with 
as much caution and slyness — bounding first on the 
water-butt, then on the dust-hole, and then alighting on 
the flag-stones — as if he were conscious that his char- 
acter depended on his gallantry of the preceding night 
escaping public observation. A partially opened bed- 
room-window here and there, bespeaks the heat of the 
weather, and the uneasy slumbers of its occupant ; and 
the dim scanty flicker of the rush-light, through the win- 
dow-blind, denotes the chamber of watching or sickness. 
With these few exceptions, the streets present no signs 
of life, nor the houses of habitation. 

An hour wears away ; the spires of the churches and 
roofs of the principal buildings are faintly tinged with the 
light of the rising sun ; and the streets, by almost imper- 
ceptible degrees, begin to resume their bustle and anima- 
tion. Market-carts roll slowly along : the sleepy wagoner 
impatiently urging on his tired horses, or vainly endeav- 
oring to awaken the boy, who, luxuriously stretched on 
the top of the fruit-baskets, forgets, in happy oblivion, 
his long-cherished curiosity to behold the wonders of 
London. 

Rough, sleepy-looking animals of strange appearance, 
something between ostlers and hackney-coachmen, begin 
to take down the shutters of early public-houses ; and 
little deal tables, with the ordinary preparations for a 


THE STREETS — MORNING. 


73 


street breakfast, make their appearance at the customary 
stations. Numbers of men and women (principally the 
latter), carrying upon their heads heavy baskets of fruit, 
toil down the park side of Piccadilly, on their way to 
Covent Garden, and, following each other in rapid suc- 
cession, form a long straggling line from thence to the 
turn of the road at Knightsbridge. 

Here and there, a bricklayer’s laborer, with the day’s 
dinner tied up in a handkerchief, walks briskly to his 
work, and occasionally a little knot of three or four 
schoolboys on a stolen bathing expedition rattle merrily 
over the pavement, their boisterous mirth contrasting 
forcibly with the demeanor of the little sweep, who, hav- 
ing knocked and rung till his arm aches, and being inter- 
dicted by a merciful legislature from endangering his 
lungs by calling out, sits patiently down on the door-step 
until the housemaid may happen to awake. 

Covent Garden market, and the avenues leading to it 
are thronged with carts of all sorts, sizes, and descrip- 
tions, from the heavy lumbering wagon, with its four 
stout horses, to the jingling costermonger’s cart with its 
consumptive donkey. The pavement is already strewed 
with decayed cabbage-leaves, broken haybands, and all 
the indescribable litter of a vegetable market ; men are 
shouting, carts backing, horses neighing, boys fighting,, 
basket-women talking, pie-men expatiating on the excel- 
lence of their pastry, and donkeys braying. These and 
a hundred other sounds form a compound discordant 
enough to a Londoner’s ears, and remarkably disagree- 
able to those of country gentlemen who are sleeping at 
the Hummums for the first time. 

Another hour passes away, and the day begins in good 
earnest. The servant of all work, who, under the plea 


74 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


of sleeping very soundly, has utterly disregarded “ Mis- 
sis’s ” ringing for half an hour previously, is warned by 
Master (whom Missis has sent up in his drapery to the 
landing-place for that purpose) that it’s half past six, 
whereupon she awakes all of a sudden, with well-feigned 
astonishment, and goes down-stairs very sulkily, wishing, 
while she strikes a light, that the principle of spontane- 
ous combustion would extend itself to coals and kitchen 
range. When the fire is lighted, she opens the street- 
door to take in the milk, when, by the most singular 
coincidence in the world, she discovers that the servant 
next door has just taken in her milk too, and that Mr. 
Todd’s young man over the way, is, by an equally extra- 
ordinary chance, taking down his master’s shutters. The 
inevitable consequence is, that she just steps, milk-jug in 
hand, as far as next door, just to say “good morning,” to 
Betsy Clark, and that Mr. Todd’s young man just steps 
over the way to say “ good morning ” to both of ’em ; 
and as the aforesaid Mr. Todd’s young man is almost as 
good-looking and fascinating as the baker himself, the 
conversation quickly becomes very interesting, and prob- 
ably would become more so, if Betsy Clark’s Missis, who 
always will be a followin’ her about, didn’t give an angry 
tap at her bedroom window, on which Mr. Todd’s young 
man tries to whistle coolly, as he goes back to his shop 
much faster than he came from it ; and the two girls run 
back to their respective places, and shut their street- 
doors with surprising softness, each of them poking their 
heads out of the front parlor- window, a minute after- 
wards, however, ostensibly with the view of looking at 
the mail which just then passes by, but really for the pur- 
pose of catching another glimpse of Mr. Todd’s young 
man, who being fond of mails, but more of females, takes 


THE STREETS — MORNING. 


75 


a short look at the mails, and a long look at the girls, 
much to the satisfaction of all parties concerned. 

The mail itself goes on to the coach-office in due 
course, and the passengers who are going out by the 
early coach, stare with astonishment at the passengers 
who are coming in by the early coach, who look blue 
and dismal, and are evidently under the influence of that 
odd feeling produced by travelling, which makes the events 
of yesterday morning seem as if they had happened at 
least six months ago, and induces people to wonder with 
considerable gravity whether the friends and relations they 
took leave of a fortnight before, have altered much since 
they left them. The coach-office is all alive, and the 
coaches which are just going out, are surrounded by the 
usual crowd of Jews and nondescripts, who seem to con- 
sider, Heaven knows why, that it is quite impossible any 
man can mount a coach without requiring at least six- 
penny-worth of oranges, a penknife, a pocket-book, a 
last-year’s annual, a pencil-case, a piece of sponge, and 
a small series of caricatures. 

Half an hour more, and the sun darts his bright rays 
cheerfully down the still half-empty streets, and shines 
with sufficient force to rouse the dismal laziness of the 
apprentice, who pauses every other minute from his task 
of sweeping out the shop and watering the pavement in 
front of it, to tell another apprentice similarly employed, 
now hot it will be to-day, or to stand with his right hand 
shading his eyes, and his left resting on the broom, gaz- 
ing at the “ Wonder,” or the “ Tally-ho,” or the “ Nim- 
rod,” or some other fast coach, till it is out of sight, when 
he reenters the shop, envying the passengers on the out- 
side of the fast coach, and thinking of the old red brick 
house “ down in the country where he went to school : 


76 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


the miseries of the milk and water, and thick bread and 
scrapings, fading into nothing before the pleasant recol- 
lection of the green field the boys used to play in, and 
the green pond he was caned for presuming to fall into, 
and other schoolboy associations. 

Cabs, with trunks and bandboxes between the drivers* 
legs and outside the apron, rattle briskly up and down 
the streets on their way to the coach-offices or steam- 
packet wharfs ; and the cab-drivers and hackney-coach- 
men who are on the stand polish up the ornamental part 
of their dingy vehicles — the former wondering how 
people can prefer “ them wild beast cariwans of liomni- 
buses, to a riglar cab with a fast trotter,*’ and the latter 
admiring how people can trust their necks into one of 
“ them crazy cabs, when they can have a ’spectable *ack- 
ney-cotche with a pair of *orses as von’t run away with 
no vun ; ’* a consolation unquestionably founded on fact, 
seeing that a hackney-coach horse never was known to 
run at all, u except,** as the smart cabman in front of the 
rank observes, “ except one, and he run back’ards.** 

The shops are now completely opened, and apprentices 
and shopmen are busily engaged in cleaning and decking 
the windows for the day. The bakers’ shops in town are 
filled with servants and children waiting for the drawing 
of the first batch of rolls — an operation which was per- 
formed a full hour ago in the suburbs ; for the early clerk 
population of Somers and Camden towns, Islington, and 
Pentonville, are fast pouring into the city, or directing 
their steps towards Chancery Lane and the Inns of Court. 
Middle-aged men, whose salaries have by no means in- 
creased in the same proportion as their families, plod 
steadily along, apparently with no object in view but the 
counting-house ; knowing by sight almost everybody they 


THE STREETS — MORNING. 


77 


meet or overtake, for they have seen them every morning 
(Sundays excepted) during the last twenty years, but 
speaking to no one. If they do happen to overtake a 
personal acquaintance, they just exchange a hurried salu- 
tation, and keep walking on either by his side, or in front 
of him, as his rate of walking may chance to be. As to 
stopping to shake hands, or to take the friend’s arm. they 
seem to think that as it is not included in their salary, 
they have no right to do it. Small office lads in large 
hats, who are made men before they are boys, hurry 
along in pairs, with their first coat carefully brushed, and 
the white trousers of last Sunday plentifully besmeared 
with dust and ink. It evidently requires a considerable 
mental struggle to avoid investing part of the day’s din- 
ner-money in the purchase of the stale tarts so tempt- 
ingly exposed in dusty tins at the pastry-cook’s doors ; 
but the consciousness of their own importance and the 
receipt of seven shillings a-week, with the prospect of 
an early rise to eight, comes to their aid, and they ac- 
cordingly put their hats a little more on one side, and 
look under the bonnets of all the milliners’ and stay- 
makers’ apprentices they meet — poor girls ! - — the hard- 
est worked, the worst paid, and too often, the worst used 
class of the community. 

Eleven o’clock, and a new set of people fill the streets. 
The goods in the shop-windows are invitingly arranged ; 
the shopmen in their white neckerchiefs and spruce coats, 
look as if they couldn’t clean a window if their lives 
depended on it ; the carts have disappeared from Covent 
Garden ; the wagoners have returned, and the coster- 
mongers repaired to their ordinary “ beats ” in the sub- 
urbs ; clerks are at their offices, and gigs, cabs, omnibuses, 
and saddle-horses, are conveying their masters to the same 


78 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


destination. The streets are thronged with a vast con- 
course of* people, gay and shabby, rich and poor, idle and 
industrious ; and we come to the heat, bustle, and activity 
of Noon. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE STREETS — NIGHT. 

But the streets of London, to be beheld in the very 
height of their glory, should be seen on a dark, dull, 
murky winter’s night, when there is just enough damp 
gently stealing down to make the pavement greasy, with- 
out cleansing it of any of its impurities ; and when the 
heavy lazy mist, which hangs over every object, makes 
the gas-lamps look brighter, and the brilliantly lighted 
shops more splendid, from the contrast they present to 
the darkness around. All the people who are at home 
on such a night as this, seem disposed to make themselves 
as snug and comfortable as possible ; and the passengers 
in the streets have excellent reason to envy the fortunate 
individuals who are seated by their own firesides. 

In the larger and better kind of streets, dining-parlor 
curtains are closely drawn, kitchen-fires blaze brightly 
up, and savory steams of hot dinners salute the nostrils 
of the hungry wayfarer, as he plods wearily by the area 
railings. In the suburbs, the muffin-boy rings his way 
down the little street, much more slowly than he is wont 
to do ; for Mrs. Macklin, of No. 4, has no sooner opened 
her little street-door, and screamed out “ Muffins ! ” with 


THE STREETS — NIGHT. 


79 


all her might, than Mrs. Walker, at No. 5, puts her head 
out of the parlor- window, and screams “ Muffins ! ” too ; 
and Mrs. Walker has scarcely got the words out of her 
lips, than Mrs. Peplow, over the way, lets loose Master 
Peplow, who darts down the street, with a velocity which 
nothing but buttered muffins in perspective could possi- 
bly inspire, and drags the boy back by main force, where- 
upon Mrs. Macklin and Mrs. Walker, just to save the 
boy trouble, and to say a few neighborly words to Mrs. 
Peplow at the same time, run over the way and buy 
their muffins at Mrs. Peplow’s door, when it appears 
from the voluntary statement of Mrs. Walker, that her 
“ kittle ’s just a-biling, and the cups and sarsers ready 
laid,” and that, as it was such a wretched night out o’ 
doors, she’d made up her mind to have a nice hot com- 
fortable cup o’ tea — a determination at which, by the 
most singular coincidence, the other two ladies had si- 
multaneously arrived. 

After a little conversation about the wretchedness of 
the weather and the merits of tea, with a digression rela- 
tive to the viciousness of boys as a rule, and the amia- 
bility of Master Peplow as an exception, Mrs. Walker 
sees her husband coming down the street ; and as he must 
want his tea, poor man, after his dirty walk from the 
Docks, she instantly runs across, muffins in hand, and 
Mrs. Macklin does the same, and after a few words to 
Mrs. Walker, they all pop into their little houses, and 
slam their little street-doors, which are not opened again 
for the remainder of the evening, except to the nine 
o’clock “ beer,” who comes round with a lantern in front 
of Ills tray, and says, as he lends Mrs. Walker “ Yester- 
day’s ’Tiser,” that he’s blessed if he can hardly hold the 
pot, much less feel the paper, for it’s one of the bitterest 


80 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


nights he ever felt. ’cept the night when the man waa 
frozen to death in the Brick-field. 

After a little prophetic conversation with the policeman 
at the street-corner, touching a probable change in the 
weather, and the setting-in of a hard frost, the nine 
o’clock beer returns to his master’s house, and employs 
himself for the remainder of the evening in assiduously 
stirring the tap-room fire, and deferentially taking part in 
the conversation of the worthies assembled round it. 

The streets in the vicinity of the Marsh Gate and 
Victoria Theatre present an appearance of dirt and dis- 
comfort on such a night, which the groups who lounge 
about them in no degree tend to diminish. Even the 
little block-tin temple sacred to baked potatoes, sur- 
mounted by a splendid design in variegated lamps, looks 
less gay than usual ; and as to the kidney-pie stand, its 
glory has quite departed. The candle in the transparent, 
lamp, manufactured of oil-paper, embellished with “ char- 
acters,” has been blown out fifty times, so the kidney-pie 
merchant, tired with running backwards and forwards to 
the next wine-vaults, to get a light, has given up the 
idea of illumination in despair, and the only signs of his 
“ whereabout,” are the bright sparks, of which a long ir- 
regular train is whirled down the street every time he 
opens his portable oven to hand a hot kidney-pie to a 
customer. 

Flat fish, oyster, and fruit venders linger hopelessly in 
the kennel, in vain endeavoring to attract customers ; and 
the ragged boys who usually disport themselves about 
the streets, stand crouched in little knots in some pro- 
jecting doorway, or under the canvas blind of the cheese- 
monger s, where great flaring gas-lights, unshaded by any 
glass, display huge piles of bright red, and pale yellow 


THE STREETS — NIGHT. 


81 


cheeses, mingled with little five-penny dabs of dingy 
bacon, various tubs of weekly Dorset, and cloudy rolls 
of “ best fresh.” 

Here they amuse themselves with theatrical converse, 
arising out of their last half-price visit to the Victoria 
gallery, admire the terrific combat, which is nightly en- 
cored, and expatiate on the inimitable manner in which 
Bill Thompson can “ come the double monkey,” or go 
through the mysterious involutions of a sailor’s hornpipe. 

It is nearly eleven o’clock, and the cold thin rain 
which has been drizzling so long, is beginning to pour 
down in good earnest ; the baked-potato man has de- 
parted — the kidney-pie man has just walked away with 
his warehouse on his arm — the cheesemonger has drawn 
in his blind, and the boys have dispersed. The constant 
clicking of pattens on the slippy and uneven pavement, 
and the rustling of umbrellas, as the wind blows against 
the shop-windows, bear testimony to the inclemency of 
the night ; and the policeman, with his oil-skin cape but- 
toned closely round him, seems as he holds his hat on his 
head, and turns round to avoid the gust of wind and rain 
which drives against him at the street-corner, to be very 
far from congratulating himself on the prospect before 
him. 

The little chandler’s shop with the cracked bell behind 
the door, whose melancholy tinkling has been regulated 
by the demand for quarterns of sugar and half-ounces of 
coffee, is shutting up. The crowds which have been 
passing to and fro during the whole day, are rapidly 
dwindling away ; and the noise of shouting and quarrel- 
ling which issues from the public-houses, is almost the 
only sound that breaks the melancholy stillness of the 
night. 


VOL. i. 


6 


82 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


There was another, but it has ceased. That wretched 
woman with the infant in her arms, round whose meagre 
form the remnant of her own scanty shawl is carefully 
wrapped, has been attempting to sing some popular bal- 
lad, in the hope of wringing a few pence from the com- 
passionate passer-by. A brutal laugh at her weak voice 
is all she has gained. The tears fall thick and fast down 
her own pale face ; the child is cold and hungry, and its 
low half-stifled wailing adds to the misery of its wretched 
mother, as she moans aloud, and sinks despairingly down, 
on a cold damp door-step. 

Singing ! How few of those who pass such a miser- 
able creature as this, think of the anguish of heart, the 
sinking of soul and spirit, which the very effort of sing- 
ing produces. Bitter mockery ! Disease, neglect, and 
starvation, faintly articulating the words of the joyous 
ditty, that has enlivened your hours of feasting and mer- 
riment. God knows how often ! It is no subject of 
jeering. The weak tremulous voice tells a fearful tale 
of want and famishing ; and the feeble singer of this 
roaring song may turn away, only to die of cold and 
hunger. 

One o’clock ! Parties returning from the different 
theatres foot it through the muddy streets ; cabs, hack- 
ney-coaches, carriages, and theatre omnibuses, roll swiftly 
by ; watermen with dim dirty lanterns in their hands, 
and large brass plates upon their breasts, who have been 
shouting and rushing about for the last two hours, retire 
to their watering-houses, to solace themselves with the 
creature comforts of pipes and purl ; the half-price pit 
and box frequenters of the theatres throng to the dif- 
ferent houses of refreshment ; and chops, kidneys, rab- 
bits, oysters, stout, cigars, and “ goes ” innumerable, are 


THE STREETS — NIGHT. 


83 


served up amidst a noise and confusion of smoking, 
running, knife-clattering, and waiter-chattering, perfectly 
indescribable. 

The more musical portion of the play-going commu- 
nity, betake themselves to some harmonic meeting. As 
a matter of curiosity let us follow them thither for a few 
moments. 

In a lofty room of spacious dimensions, are seated some 
eighty or a hundred guests knocking little pewter meas- 
ures on the tables, and hammering away with the han- 
dles of their knives, as if they were so many trunk- 
makers. They are applauding a glee, which has just 
been executed by the three “ professional gentlemen ” at 
the top of the centre-table, one of whom is in the chaii 
— the little pompous man with the bald head just emerg- 
ing from the collar of his green coat. The others are 
seated on either side of him — the stout man with the 
small voice, and the thin-faced dark man in black. The 
little man in the chair is a most amusing personage, — 
such condescending grandeur, and such a voice ! 

“ Bass ! ” as the young gentleman near us with the 
blue stock forcibly remarks to his companion, “ bass ! I 
b’lieve you ; he can go down lower than any man ; so 
low sometimes that you can’t hear him.” And so he 
does. To hear him growling away, gradually lower and 
lower down, till he can’t get back again, is the most de- 
lightful thing in the world, and it is quite impossible to 
witness unmoved the impressive solemnity with which he 
pours forth his soul in “ My ’art’s in the ’ighlands,” or 
u The brave old Hoak.” The stout man is also addicted 
to sentimentality, and warbles “ Fly, fly from the world, 
my Bessy, with me,” or some such song, with ladylike 
sweetness, and in the most seductive tones imaginable. 


64 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


“ Pray give your orders, genTmen — pray give youi 
orders,” — says the pale-faced man with the red head ; 
and demands for “ goes ” of gin and “ goes ” of brandy, 
and pints of stout, and cigars of peculiar mildness, are 
vociferously made from all parts of the room. The 
“ professional gentlemen ” are in the very height of their 
glory, and bestow condescending nods, or even a word or 
two of recognition on the better known frequenters of 
the room, in the most bland and patronizing manner 
possible. 

That little round-faced man, with the small brown 
surtout, white stockings and shoes, is in the comic line ; 
the mixed air of self-denial, and mental consciousness 
of his own powers, with which he acknowledges the call 
of the chair, is particularly gratifying. “ GenTmen,” 
says the little pompous man, accompanying the word 
with a knock of the president’s hammer on the table — 
“ GenTmen, allow me to claim your attention — our 
friend, Mr. Smuggins, will oblige.” — “ Bravo ! ” shout 
the company ; and Smuggins, after a considerable quan- 
tity of coughing by way of symphony, and a most face- 
tious sniff or two, which afford general delight, sings a 
comic song, with a fal-de-ral — tol-de-rol chorus at the 
end of every verse, much longer than the verse itself. 
It is received with unbounded applause, and after some 
aspiring genius has volunteered a recitation, and failed 
dismally therein, the little pompous man gives another 
knock, and says, “ GenTmen, we will attempt a glee, if 
you please.” This announcement calls forth tumultuous 
applause, and the more energetic spirits express the un- 
qualified approbation it affords them, by knocking one oi 
two stout glasses off their legs — a humorous device ; 
but one which frequently occasions some slight altercar 


SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS. 


85 


tion when the form of paying the damage is proposed to 
be gone through by the waiter. 

Scenes like these are continued until three or four 
o'clock in the morning ; and even when they close, fresh 
ones open to the inquisitive novice. But as a description 
of all of them, however slight, would require a volume, 
the contents of which, however instructive, would be 
by no means pleasing, we make our bow, and drop the 
curtain. 


CHAPTER III. 

SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS. 

What inexhaustible food for speculation, do the streets 
of London afford ! We never were able to agree witb 
Sterne in pitying the man who could travel from Dan to 
Beersheba, and say that all was barren ; we have not 
the slightest commiseration for the man who can take up 
his hat and stick, and walk from Covent Garden to St 
Paul’s Churchyard, and back into the bargain, without 
deriving some amusement — we had almost said instruc- 
tion — from his perambulation. And yet there are such 
beings : we meet them every day. Large black stocks 
and light waistcoats, jet canes and discontented counte- 
nances, are the characteristics of the race ; other people 
brush quickly by you, steadily plodding on to business, 
3r cheerfully running after pleasure. These men linger 
listlessly past, looking as happy and animated as a police- 
man on duty. Nothing seems to make an impression on 


86 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


their minds nothing short of being knocked down by a 
porter, or run over by a cab, will disturb their equa- 
nimity. You will meet them on a fine day in any of the 
leading thoroughfares : peep through the window of a 
west-end cigar-shop in the evening, if you can manage to 
get a glimpse between the blue curtains which intercept 
the vulgar gaze, and you see them in their only enjoy- 
ment of existence. There they are lounging about, on 
round tubs and pipe-boxes, in all the dignity of whiskers 
and gilt watch-guards ; whispering soft nothings to the 
young lady in amber, with the large ear-rings, who, as 
she sits behind the counter in a blaze of adoration and 
gas-light, is the admiration of all the female servants 
in the neighborhood, and the envy of every milliner’s 
apprentice within two miles round. 

One of our principal amusements is to watch the grad- 
ual progress — the rise or fall — of particular shops. 
We have formed an intimate acquaintance with several, 
in different parts of town, and are perfectly acquainted 
with their whole history. We could name, off-hand, 
twenty at least, which we are quite sure have paid no 
taxes for the last six years. They are never inhabited 
for more than two months consecutively, and, we verily 
believe, have witnessed every retail trade in the direc- 
tory. 

There is one, whose history is a sample of the rest, in 
whose fate we have taken especial interest, having had 
the pleasure of knowing it ever since it has been a shop. 
It is on the Surrey side of the water — a little distance 
beyond the Marsh Gate. It was originally a substantial, 
good-looking private house enough ; the landlord got into 
difficulties, the house got into Chancery, the tenant went 
away, and the house went to ruin. At this period our 


SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS. 


87 


acquaintance with it commenced : the paint was all worn 
off ; the windows were broken, the area was green with 
neglect and the overflowings of the water-butt ; the butt 
itself was without a lid, and the street-door was the very 
picture of misery. The chief pastime of the children in 
the vicinity had been to assemble in a body on the steps 
and take it in turn to knock loud double-knocks at the 
door, to the great satisfaction of the neighbors generally, 
and especially of the nervous old lady next door but one. 
Numerous complaints were made, and several small 
basins of water discharged over the offenders, but with- 
out effect. In this state of things, the marine-store 
dealer at the corner of the street, in the most obliging 
manner took the knocker off, and sold it : and the unfor- 
tunate house looked more wretched than ever. 

We deserted our friend for a few weeks. What was 
our surprise, on our return, to find no trace of its exist- 
ence ! In its place was a handsome shop, fast approach- 
ing to a state of completion, and on the shutters were 
large bills, informing the public that it would shortly be 
opened with “an extensive stock of linen-drapery and 
haberdashery.” It opened in due course ; there was the 
name of the proprietor “ and Co.” in gilt letters, almost 
too dazzling to look at. Such ribbons and shawls ! and 
two such elegant young men behind the counter, each in 
a clean collar and white neckcloth, like the lover in a 
farce. As to the proprietor, he did nothing but walk up 
and down the shop, and hand seats to the ladies, and 
hold important conversations with the handsomest of the 
young men, who was shrewdly suspected by the neigh- 
bors to be the u Co.” We saw all this with sorrow ; we 
felt a fatal presentiment that the shop was doomed — and 
so it was. Its decay was slow, but sure. Tickets grad- 


88 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


ually appeared in the windows; then rolls of flannels, 
with labels on them, were stuck outside the door ; then a 
bill was pasted on the street-door, intimating that the 
first floor was to let un furnished ; then one of the young 
men disappeared altogether, and the other took to a black 
neckerchief, and the proprietor took to drinking. The 
shop became dirty, broken panes of glass remained un- 
mended, and the stock disappeared piecemeal. At last 
the company’s man came to cut off the w T ater, and then 
the linen-draper cut off himself, leaving the landlord his 
compliments and the key. 

The next occupant was a fancy stationer. The shop 
w r as more modestly painted than before, still it was neat ; 
but somehow w r e always thought, as we passed, that it 
looked like a poor and struggling concern. We wished 
the man well, but w r e trembled for his success. He w r as 
a widower evidently, and had employment elsewhere, for 
he passed us every morning on his road to the city. The 
business was carried on by his eldest daughter. Poor 
girl ! she needed no assistance. We occasionally caught 
a glimpse of two or three children, in mourning like her- 
self, as they sat in the little parlor behind the shop ; and 
we never passed at night without seeing the eldest girl 
at work, either for them, or in making some elegant little 
trifle for sale. We often thought, as her pale face looked 
more sad and pensive in the dim candle-light, that if 
those thoughtless females who interfere wdth the miser- 
able market of poor creatures such as these, knew but 
one half of the misery they suffer, and the bitter priva- 
tions they endure, in their honorable attempts to earn a 
scanty subsistence, they would, perhaps, resign even op- 
portunities for the gratification of vanity, and an immod- 
est love of self-display, rather than drive them to a last 


SHOPS AND THEIR TENANTS. 


89 


dreadful resource, which it would shock the delicate feel- 
ings of these charitable ladies to hear named. 

But we are forgetting the shop. Well, we continued 
to watch it, and every day showed too clearly the in- 
creasing poverty of its inmates. The children were 
clean, it is true, but their clothes were threadbare and 
shabby ; no tenant had been procured for the upper part 
of the house, from the letting of which, a portion of the 
means of paying the rent was to have been derived, and 
a slow, wasting consumption prevented the eldest girl 
from continuing her exertions. Quarter-day arrived. 
The landlord had suffered from the extravagance of his 
last tenant, and he had no compassion for the struggles 
of his successor ; he put in an execution. As we passed 
one morning, the broker’s men were removing the little 
furniture there was in the house, and a newly posted bill 
informed us it was again “ To Let.” What became of 
the last tenant we never could learn ; we believe the girl 
is past all suffering, and beyond all sorrow. God help 
her ! We hope she is. 

We were somewhat curious to ascertain what would 
be the next stage — for that the place had no chance of 
succeeding now, was perfectly clear. The bill was soon 
taken down, and some alterations were being made in the 
interior of the shop. We were in a fever of expecta- 
tion ; we exhausted conjecture — we imagined all possi- 
ble trades, none of which were perfectly reconcilable with 
our idea of the gradual decay of the tenement. It 
opened, and we wondered why we had rot guessed at 
the real state of the case before. The shop — not a 
large one at the best of times — had been converted into 
two : one was a bonnet-shape maker’s, the other was 
opened by a tobacconist, who also dealt in walking-sticks 


90 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


and Sunday newspapers ; the two were separated by a 
thin partition, covered with tawdry striped paper. 

The tobacconist remained in possession longer than any 
tenant within our recollection. He was a red-faced, im- 
pudent, good-for-nothing dog, evidently accustomed to 
take things as they came, and to make the best of a bad 
job. He sold as many cigars as he could, and smoked 
the rest. He occupied the shop as long as he could make 
peace with the landlord, and when he could no longer 
live in quiet, he very coolly locked the door, and bolted 
himself. From this period, the two little dens have under- 
gone innumerable changes. The tobacconist was succeeded 
by a theatrical hair-dresser, who ornamented the window 
with a great variety of “ characters,” and terrific com- 
bats. The bonnet-shape maker gave place to a green- 
grocer, and the histrionic barber was succeeded, in his 
turn, by a tailor. So numerous have been the changes, 
that we have of late done little more than mark the 
peculiar but certain indications of a house being poorly 
inhabited. It has been progressing by almost impercep- 
tible degrees. The occupiers of the shops have gradu- 
ally given up room after room, until they have only 
reserved the little parlor for themselves. First there 
appeared a brass plate on the private door, with “ Ladies’ 
School ” legibly engraved thereon ; shortly afterwards 
we observed a second brass plate, then a bell, and then 
another bell. 

When we paused in front of our old friend, and ob- 
served these signs of poverty, which are not to be mis- 
taken, we thought as we turned away, that the house had 
attained its lowest pitch of degradation. We were 
wrong. When we last passed it, a “ dairy ” was estab- 
lished in the area, and a party of melancholy-looking 


SCOTLAND YARD. 


91 


fowls were amusing themselves by running in at the 
front-door, and out at the back one. 


CHAPTER IV. 

SCOTLAND YARD. 

Scotland Yard is a small — a very small — tract of 
land, bounded on one side by the river Thames, on the 
other by the gardens of Northumberland House : abut- 
ting at one end on the bottom of Northumberland Street, 
at the other on the back of Whitehall Place. When this 
territory was first accidentally discovered by a country 
gentleman who lost his ’way in the Strand, some years 
ago, the original settlers were found to be a tailor, a pub- 
lican, two eating-house keepers, and a fruit-pie maker ; 
and it was also found to contain a race of strong and 
bulky men, who repaired to the wharfs in Scotland Yard 
regularly every morning, about five or six o’clock, to fill 
heavy wagons with coal, with which they proceeded to 
distant places up the country, and supplied the inhabi- 
tants with fuel. When they had emptied their wagons, 
they again returned for a fresh supply ; and this trade 
was continued throughout the year. 

As the settlers derived their subsistence from minis- 
tering to the wants of these primitive traders, the articles 
exposed for sale, and the places where they were sold, 
bore strong outward marks of being expressly adapted to 
their tastes and wishes. The tailor displayed in his 
window a Lilliputian pair of leather gaiters, and a dimm- 


92 


SKETCHES BY BOZ 


utive round frock, while each doorpost was appropriately 
garnished with a model of a coal-sack. The two eating- 
house keepers exhibited joints of a magnitude, and pud- 
dings of a solidity, which coalheavers alone could appre- 
ciate ; and the fruit-pie maker displayed on his well- 
scrubbed window-board large white compositions of flour 
and dripping, ornamented with pink stains, giving rich 
promise of the fruit within, which made their huge mouths 
water, as they lingered past. 

But the choicest spot in all Scotland Yard was the old 
public-house in the corner. Here, in a dark wainscoted- 
room of ancient appearance, cheered by the glow of a 
mighty fire, and decorated with an enormous clock, 
wffiereof the face was white, and the figures black, sat the 
lusty coalheavers, quaffing large draughts of Barclay’s 
best, and puffing forth volumes of smoke, which wreathed 
heavily above their heads, and 'involved the room in a 
thick dark cloud. From this apartment might their 
voices be heard on a winter’s night, penetrating to the 
very bank of the river, as they shouted out some sturdy 
chorus, or roared forth the burden of a popular song ; 
dwelling upon the last few words with a strength and 
length of emphasis which made the very roof tremble 
above them. 

Here, too, would they tell old legends of what the 
Thames was in ancient times, when the Patent Shot 
Manufactory wasn’t built, and Waterloo Bridge had 
never been thought of ; and then they would shake 
their heads with portentous looks, to the deep edifica- 
tion of the rising generation of heavers, who crowded 
round them, and wondered where all this would end , 
whereat the tailor would take his pipe solemnly from his 
mouth, and say, how that he hoped it might end well, but 


SCOTLAND YARD. 


93 


he very much doubted whether it would or not, and 
couldn’t rightly tell what to make of it — a mysterious 
expression of opinion, delivered with a semi-proplietic 
air, which never failed to elicit the fullest concurrence 
of the assembled company ; and so they would go on 
drinking and wondering till ten o’clock came, and with 
it the tailor’s wife to fetch him home, when the little 
party broke up, to meet again in the same room, and say 
and do precisely the same things on the following even- 
ing at the same hour. 

About this time the barges that came up the river be- 
gan to bring vague rumors to Scotland Yard of somebody 
in the city having been heard to say, that the Lord 
Mayor had threatened in so many words to pull down 
the old London Bridge, and build up a new one. At 
first these rumors were disregarded as idle tales, wholly 
destitute of foundation, for nobody in Scotland Yard 
doubted that if the Lord Mayor contemplated any such 
dark design, he would just be clapped up in the Tower 
for a week or two, and then killed off for high treason. 

By degrees, however, the reports grew stronger, and 
more frequent, and at last a barge, laden with numerous 
chaldrons of the best Wallsend, brought up the positive 
intelligence that several of the arches of the old bridge 
were stopped, and that preparations were actually in prog- 
ress for constructing the new one. What an excitement 
was visible in the old tap-room on that memorable night ! 
Each man looked into his neighbor’s face, pale with alarm 
and astonishment, and read therein an echo of the senti- 
ments which filled his own breast. The oldest heaver 
present proved to demonstration, that the moment tho 
piers were removed, all the water in the Thames would 
run clean off, and leave a dry gully in its place. What 


94 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


was to become of tlie coal-barges — of the trade of Scot- 
land Yard — of the very existence of its population? 
The tailor shook his head more sagely than usual, and 
grimly pointing to a knife on the table, bid them wait 
rend see what happened. He said nothing — not he ; 
but if the Lord Mayor didn’t fall a victim to popular 
indignation, why he would be rather astonished ; that 
was all. 

They did wait ; barge after barge arrived, and still no 
tidings of the assassination of tbe Lord Mayor. The 
first stone was laid : it was done by a Duke — the 
King’s brother. Years passed away, and the bridge 
was opened by the King himself. In course of time, 
the piers were removed ; and when the people in Scot- 
land Yard got up next morning in the confident expecta- 
tion of being able to step over to Pedlar’s Acre without 
wetting the soles of their shoes, they found to their un- 
speakable astonishment that the water was just where it 
used to be. 

A result so different from that which they had antici- 
pated from this first improvement, produced its full effect 
upon the inhabitants of Scotland Yard. One of the eat- 
ing-house keepers began to court public opinion, and to 
look for customers among a new class of people. He 
covered his little dining-tables with white cloths, and got 
a painter’s apprentice to inscribe something about hot 
joints from twelve to two, in one of the little panes of 
his shop-window. Improvement began to march with 
rapid strides to the very threshold of Scotland Yard. A 
new market sprung up at Hungerford, and the Police 
Commissioners established their office in Whitehall Place. 
The traffic in Scotland Yard increased ; fresh Members 
were added to the House of Commons, the Metropolitan 


SCOTLAND YARD. 


95 


Representatives found it a near cut, and many other foot 
passengers followed their example. 

We marked the advance of civilization, and beheld it 
with a sigh. The eating-house keeper who manfully, 
resisted the innovation of table-cloths, was losing ground 
every day, as his opponent gained it, and a deadly feud 
sprung up between them. The genteel one no longer 
took his evening’s pint in Scotland Yard, but drank gin 
and water at a “ parlor ” in Parliament-Street. The 
fruit-pie maker still continued to visit the old room, but 
he took to smoking cigars, and began to call himself a 
pastry-cook, and to read the papers. The old heavers 
still assembled round the ancient fireplace, but their talk 
was mournful : and the loud song and the joyous shout 
were heard no more. 

And what is Scotland Yard now ? How have its old 
customs changed ; and how has the ancient simplicity of 
its inhabitants faded away ! The old tottering public- 
house is converted into a spacious and lofty “wine- 
vaults ; ” gold leaf has been used in the construction of 
the letters which emblazon its exterior, and the poet’s art 
has been called into requisition, to intimate that if you 
drink a certain description of ale, you must hold fast by 
the rail. The tailor exhibits in his window the pattern 
of a foreign-looking brown surtout, with silk buttons, a 
fur collar and fur cuffs. He wears a stripe down the 
outside of each leg of his trousers : and we have detect- 
ed his assistants (for he has assistants now) in the act of 
sitting on the shop-board in the same uniform. 

At the other end of the little row of houses a boot- 
maker has established himself in a brick box, with the 
additional innovation of a first floor ; and here he exposes 
for sale, boots — real Wellington boots — an article which 


96 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


a few years ago, none of the original inhabitants had 
ever seen or heard of. It was but the other day, that a 
dress-maker opened another little box in the middle of 
the row ; and, when we thought that the spirit of change 
could produce no alteration beyond that, a jeweller ap- 
peared, and not content with exposing gilt rings and 
copper bracelets out of number, put up an announcement, 
which still sticks in his window, that “ ladies’ ears may 
be pierced within.” The dress-maker employs a young 
lady who wears pockets in her apron ; and the tailor 
informs the public that gentlemen may have their own 
materials made up. 

Amidst all this change, and restlessness, and innova- 
tion, there remains but one old man, who seems to mourn 
the downfall of this ancient place. He holds no con- 
verse with human kind, but, seated on a wooden bench at 
the angle of the wall which fronts the crossing from 
Whitehall Place, watches in silence the gambols of his 
sleek and well-fed dogs. He is the presiding genius of 
Scotland Yard. Years and years have rolled over his 
head ; but, in fine weather or in foul, hot or cold, wet or 
dry, hail, rain, or snow, he is still in his accustomed spot. 
Misery and want are depicted in his countenance ; his 
form is bent by age, his head is gray with length of trial, 
but there he sits from day to day, brooding over the past ; 
and thither he will continue to drag his feeble limbs, 
until his eyes have closed upon Scotland Yard, and upon 
ll.e world together. 

A few years hence, and the antiquary of another gen- 
eration looking into some mouldy record of the strife and 
passions that agitated the world in these times, may 
glance his eye over the pages we have just filled : and 
not all his knowledge of the history of the past, not all 


SEVEN DIAfiS. 


97 


his black-letter lore, or his skill in book -collecting, not all 
the dry studies of a long life, or the dusty volumes that 
have cost him a fortune, may help him to the where- 
abouts, either of Scotland Yard, or of any one of the 
landmarks we have mentioned in describing it. 


CHAPTER V. 

SEVEN DIALS. 

We have always been of opinion that if Tom King 
and the Frenchman had not immortalized Seven Dials, 
Seven Dials would have immortalized itself. Seven 
Dials ! the region of song and poetry — first effusions, 
and last dying speeches : hallowed by the names of Cat- 
nach and of Pitts — names that will entwine themselves 
with costermongers, and barrel organs, when penny maga- 
zines shall have superseded penny yards of song, and 
capital punishment be unknown ! 

Look at the construction of the place. The gordian 
knot was all very well in its way : so was the maze of 
Hampton Court : so is the maze at the Beulah Spa : so 
were the ties of stiff white neckcloths, when the diffi- 
culty of getting one on, was only to be equalled by the 
apparent impossibility of ever getting it off again. But 
what involutions can compare with those of Seven Dials ? 
Where is there such another maze of streets, courts, 
lanes, and alleys ? Where such a pure mixture of Eng- 
lishmen and Irishmen, as in this complicated part of Lon- 


VOL- i. 


98 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


don ? We boldly aver that we doubt the veracity of the 
legend to which we have adverted. We can suppose a 
man rash enough to inquire at random — at a house with 
lodgers too — for a Mr. Thompson, with all but the cer- 
tainty before his eyes, of finding at least two or three 
Thompsons in any house of moderate dimensions ; but a 
Frenchman — a Frenchman in Seven Dials! Pooh! 
He was an Irishman. Tom King's education had been 
neglected in his infancy, and as he couldn’t understand 
half the man said, he took it for granted he was talking 
French. 

The stranger who finds himself in “ The Dials ” for 
the first time, and stands, Belzoni-like, at the entrance of 
seven obscure passages, uncertain which to take, will see 
enough around him to keep his curiosity and attention 
awake for no inconsiderable time. From the irregular 
square into which he has plunged, the streets and courts 
dart in all directions, until they are lost in the unwhole- 
some vapor which hangs over the house-tops, and renders 
the dirty perspective uncertain and confined ; and loung- 
ing at every corner, as if they came there to take a few 
gasps of such fresh air as has found its way so far, but is 
too much exhausted already, to be enabled to force itself 
into the narrow alleys around, are groups of people, 
whose appearance and dwellings would fill any mind but 
a regular Londoner’s with astonishment. 

On one side, a little crowd has collected round a couple 
d ladies, who having imbibed the contents of various 
6< three-outs ” of gin and bitters in the course of the morn- 
ing, have at length differed on some point of domestic 
arrangement, and are on the eve of settling the quarrel 
satisfactorily, by an appeal to blows, greatly to the inter- 
est of other ladies who live in the same house, and tene- 


SEVEN DIALS. 99 

merits adjoining, and who are all partisans on one side or 
other. 

“ Vy don’t you pitch into her, Sarah ? ” exclaims one 
half-dressed matron, by way of encouragement. “ Vy 
don’t you ? if my husband had treated her with a drain 
last night, unbeknown to me, I’d tear her precious eyes 
out — a wixen ! ” 

“ What’s the matter, ma’am ? ” inquires another old 
woman, who has just bustled up to the spot. 

“ Matter ! ” replies the first speaker, talking at 'he ob- 
noxious combatant, “matter! Here’s poor dear Mrs. 
Sulliwin, as has five blessed children of her own, can’t go 
out a charing for one arternoon, but what hussies must 
be a cornin’, and dicing avay her oun’ ’usband, as she’s 
been married to twelve year come next Easter Monday, 
for I see the certificate ven I vas a drinkin’ a cup o’ tea 
vith her, only the werry last blessed Ven’sday as ever 
was sent. I ’appen’d to say promiscuously ‘ Mrs. Sulli- 
win,’ says I — ” 

“ What do you mean by hussies ? ” interrupts a cham- 
pion of the other party, who has evinced a strong inclina- 
tion throughout to get up a branch fight on her own 
account (“ Hooroar,” ejaculates a pot-boy in parenthesis, 
“ put the kye-bosk on her, Mary !”), “What do you mean 
by hussies ? ” reiterates the champion. 

“ Niver mind,” replies the opposition expressively, 
“niver mind; you go home, and, ven you’re quite sober, 
intnd your stockings.” 

This somewhat personal allusion, not only to the lady’s 
habits of intemperance, but also to the state of her ward- 
robe, rouses her utmost ire, and she accordingly complies 
with the urgent request of the bystanders to “ pitch in,” 
with considerable alacrity. The scuffle became general, 


100 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


and terminates in minor play-bill phraseology, with u ar- 
rival of the policemen, interior of the station-house, and 
impressive denouement .” 

In addition to the numerous groups who are idling 
about the gin-shops and squabbling in the centre of the 
1 oad, every post in the open space has its occupant, who 
leans against it for hours, with listless perseverance. It 
is odd enough that one class of men in London appear to 
have no enjoyment beyond leaning against posts. We 
never saw a regular bricklayer’s laborer take any other 
recreation, fighting excepted. Pass through St. Giles’s 
in the evening of a week-day, there they are in their 
fustian dresses, spotted with brick-dust and whitewash, 
leaning against posts. Walk through Seven Dials on 
Sunday morning : there they are again, drab or light 
corduroy trousers, Blucher boots, blue coats, and great 
yellow waistcoats, leaning against posts. The idea of a 
man dressing himself in his best clothes, to lean against 
a post all day ! 

The peculiar character of these streets, and the close 
resemblance each one bears to its neighbor, by no means 
tends to decrease the bewilderment in which the unex- 
perienced wayfarer through “ The Dials ” finds himself 
involved. He traverses streets of dirty, straggling 
houses, with now and then an unexpected court com- 
posed of buildings as ill-proportioned and deformed as 
the half-naked children that wallow in the kennels. 
Here and there, a little dark chandler’s shop, with a 
cracked bell hung up behind the door to announce the 
entrance of a customer, or betray the presence of some 
young gentleman in whom a passion for shop tills has 
developed itself at an early age : others, as if for sup- 
port, against some handsome lofty building, which usurps 


SEVEN DIALS. 


101 


the place of a low dingy public-house ; long rows of 
broken and patched windows expose plants that may 
have flourished when “ The Dials ” were built, in vessels 
as dirty as “ The Dials ” themselves ; and shops for the 
purchase of rags, bones, old iron, and kitchen-stuff, vie in 
cleanliness with the bird-fanciers and rabbit-dealers, 
which one might fancy so many arks, but for the irre- 
sistible conviction that no bird in its proper senses, who 
was permitted to leave one of them, would ever come 
back again. Brokers’ shops, which would seem to have 
been established by humane individuals, as refuges for 
destitute bugs, interspersed with announcements of day- 
schools, penny theatres, petition-writers, mangles, and 
music for balls or routs, complete the “ still life ” of 
the subject ; and dirty men, filthy women, squalid chil- 
dren, fluttering shuttlecocks, noisy battledoors, reeking 
pipes, bad fruit, more than doubtful oysters, attenuated 
cats, depressed dogs, and anatomical fowls, are its cheer- 
ful accompaniments. 

If the external appearance of the houses, or a glance 
at their inhabitants, present but few attractions, a closer 
acquaintance with either is little calculated to alter one’s 
first impression. Every room has its separate tenant, 
and every tenant is, by the same mysterious dispensa- 
tion which causes a country curate to “ increase and mul- 
tiply ” most marvellously, generally the head of a numer- 
ous family. 

The man in the shop, perhaps, is in the baked “jem- 
my ” line, or the firewood and hearth-stone line, or any 
other line which requires a floating capital of eighteen 
pence or thereabouts : and he and his family live in the 
shop and the small back parlor behind it. Then there is 
an Irish laborer and his family in the back kitchen, and a 


102 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


jobbing-man — carpet-beater and so forth — with his family 
in the front one. In the front one-pair, there’s another man 
with another wife and family, and in the back one-paif, 
there’s “ a young ’oman as takes in tambour-w r ork, and 
dresses quite genteel,” who talks a good deal about “ my 
friend,” and can’t “ abear anything low.” The second floor 
front, and the rest of the lodgers, are just a second edition 
of the people below, except a shabby-genteel man in the 
back attic, who has bis half pint of coffee every morning 
from the coffee-shop next door but one, which boasts a 
little front den called a coffee-room, with a fireplace, 
over which is an inscription, politely requesting that, “ to 
prevent mistakes,” customers will “ please to pay on de- 
livery.” The shabby-genteel man is an object of some 
mystery, but as he leads a life of seclusion, and never 
was known to buy anything beyond an occasional pen, 
except half pints of coffee, penny loaves, and ha’porths 
of ink, his fellow-lodgers very naturally suppose him to 
be an author ; and rumors are current in the Dials, that 
he writes poems for Mr. Warren. 

Now anybody who passed through the Dials on a hot 
summer’s evening, and saw the different women of the 
house gossiping on the steps, would be apt to think that 
all was harmony among them, and that a more primitive 
set of people than the native Diallers could not be im- 
agined. Alas ! the man in the shop ill-treats his family ; 
the carpet-beater extends his professional pursuits to his 
wife ; the one-pair front has an undying feud with the 
two-pair front, in consequence of the two-pair front per- 
sisting in dancing over his (the one-pair front’s) head, 
when he and his family have retired for the night ; the 
two-pair back will interfere wffth the front kitchen’s chil- 
dren ; the Irishman comes home drunk every other 


MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH STREET. 103 


night, and attacks everybody; and the one-pair back 
screams at everything. Animosities spring up between 
floor and floor ; the very cellar asserts his equality. Mrs. 
A. “ smacks ” Mrs. B.’s child, for “ making faces.” Mrs. 
Ik forthwith throws cold water over Mrs. A.’s child, for 
“ calling names.” The husbands are embroiled — the 
quarrel becomes general — an assault is the consequence, 
anti a police officer the result. 


CHAPTER VI. 

MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH STREET. 

We have always entertained a particular attachment 
towards Monmouth Street, as the only true and real em- 
porium for second-hand wearing apparel. Monmouth 
Street is venerable from its antiquity, and respectable 
from its usefulness. Holywell Street we despise ; the 
red-headed and red-whiskered Jews who forcibly haul 
you into their squalid houses, and thrust you into a suit 
of clothes, whether you will or not, we detest. 

The inhabitants of Monmouth Street are a distinct 
class; a peaceable and retiring race, who immure them- 
selves for the most part in deep cellars, or small back- 
parlors, and who seldom come forth into the world, 
except in the dusk and coolness of evening, when they 
may be seen seated, in chairs on the pavement, smoking 
their pipes, or watching the gambols of their engaging 
children as they revel in the gutter, a happy troop of 
infantine scavengers. Their countenances bear a thought 


104 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


ful and a dirty cast, certain indications of their love of 
traffic ; and their habitations are distinguished by that 
disregard of outward appearance, and neglect of personal 
comfort, so common among people who are constantly 
immersed in profound speculations, and deeply engaged 
in sedentary pursuits. 

We have hinted at the antiquity of our favorite spot. 
“ A Monmouth Street laced coat ” was a by-word a cen- 
tury ago ; and still we find Monmouth Street the same. 
Pilot great-coats with wooden buttons, have usurped the 
place of the ponderous laced coats with full skirts ; em- 
broidered waistcoats with large flaps, have yielded to 
double-breasted checks with roll-collars ; and three-cor- 
nered hats of quaint appearance, have given place to the 
low crowns and broad brims of the coachman school ; but 
it is the times that have changed, not Monmouth Street. 
Through every alteration and every change, Monmouth 
Street has still remained the burial-place of the fashions ; 
and such, to judge from all present appearances, it will 
remain until there are no more fashions to bury. 

We love to walk among these extensive groves of the 
illustrious dead, and to indulge in the speculations to 
which they give rise ; now fitting a deceased coat, then a 
dead pair of trousers, and anon the mortal remains of a 
gaudy waistcoat, upon some being of our own conjuring 
up, and endeavoring from the shape and fashion of the 
garment itself, to bring its former owner before our 
mind’s eye. We have gone on speculating in this way, 
until whole rows of coats have started from their pegs, 
and buttoned up, of their own accord, round the waists 
of imaginary wearers ; lines of trousers have jumped 
down to meet them ; waistcoats have almost burst with 
anxiety to put themselves on ; and half an acre of shoes 


MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH STREET. 


105 


have suddenly found feet to fit them, and gone stumping 
down the street with a noise which has fairly awakened 
us from our pleasant revery, and driven us slowly away, 
with a bewildered stare, an object of astonishment to the 
good people of Monmouth Street, and of no slight suspi- 
cion to the policeman at the opposite street-corner. 

We were occupied in this manner the other day, en- 
deavoring to fit a pair of lace-up half-boots on an ideal 
personage, for whom, to say the truth, they were full a 
couple of sizes too small, when our eyes happened to 
alight on a few suits of clothes ranged outside a shop- 
window, which it immediately struck us, must at different 
periods have all belonged to, and been worn by, the same 
individual, and had now, by one of those strange conjunc- 
tions of circumstances which will occur sometimes, come 
to be exposed together for sale in the same shop. The 
idea seemed a fantastic one, and we looked at the clothes 
again, with a firm determination not to be easily led 
away. No, we were right; the more we looked, the 
more we were convinced of the accuracy of our previous 
impression. There was the man’s whole life written as 
legibly on those clothes, as if we had his autobiography 
engrossed on parchment before us. 

The first was a patched and much-soiled skeleton suit : 
one of those straight blue cloth cases in which small boys 
used to be confined before belts and tunics had come in 
and old notions had "one out : an ingenious contrivance 
for displaying the full symmetry of a boy’s figure, by fas- 
tening him into a very tight jacket, with an ornamental 
row of buttons over each shoulder, and then buttoning 
1 1 is trousers over it, so as to give his legs the appearance 
of being hooked on, just under the armpits. This was 
the boy’s dress. It had belonged to a town boy, we 


106 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


could see ; there was a shortness about the legs and arms 
of the suit, and a bagging at the knees, peculiar to the 
rising youth of London streets. A small day-school he 
had been at, evidently. If it had been a regular boys’ 
school they wouldn’t have let him play on the Boor so 
much, and rub his knees so white. He had an indulgent 
mother, too, and plenty of halfpence, as the numerous 
smears of some sticky substance about the pockets, and 
just below the chin, which even the salesman’s skill 
could not succeed in disguising, sufficiently betokened. 
They were decent people, but not overburdened with 
riches, or he would not have so far outgrown the suit 
when he passed into those corduroys with the round 
jacket ; in which he went to a boys’ school, however, 
learnt to write ; and in ink of pretty tolerable blackness, 
too, if the place where he used to wipe his pen might be 
taken as evidence. 

A black suit and the jacket changed into a diminutive 
coat. His father had died, and the mother had got the 
boy a message-lad’s place in some office. A long-worn 
suit that one ; rusty and threadbare before it was laid 
aside, but clean and free from soil to the last. Poor 
woman ! We could imagine her assumed cheerfulness 
over the scanty meal, and the refusal of her own small 
portion, that her hungry boy might have enough. Her 
constant anxiety for his welfare, her pride in his growth, 
mingled sometimes with the thought, almost too acute to 
bear, that as he grew to be a man his old affection might 
cool, old kindnesses fade from his mind, and old promises 
be forgotten — the sharp pain that even then a careless 
word or a cold look would give her — all crowded on our 
thoughts as vividly as if the very scene were passing be- 
fore us. 


MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH STREET. 107 


These things happen every hour, and we all know it ; 
and yet we felt as much sorrow when we saw, or fancied 
we saw — it makes no difference which — the change 
that began to take place now, as if we had just conceived 
the bare possibility of such a thing for the first time. The 
next suit, smart, but slovenly ; meant to be gay, and yet 
not half so decent as the threadbare apparel ; redolent 
of the idle lounge, and the blackguard companions, told 
us, we thought, that the widow’s comfort had rapidly 
faded away. We could imagine that coat — imagine! 
we could see it ; we had seen it a hundred times — 
sauntering in company with three or four other coats of 
the same cut, about some place of profligate resort at 
night. 

We dressed from the same shop-window in an instant, 
half a dozen boys of from fifteen to twenty ; and putting 
cigars into their mouths, and their hands into their pock- 
ets, watched them as they sauntered down the street, and 
lingered at the corner, with the obscene jest, and the oft- 
repeated oath. We never lost sight of them, till they 
had cocked their hats a little more on one side, and swag- 
gered into the public-house ; and then we entered the 
desolate home, where the mother sat late in the night, 
alone ; we watched her, as she paced the room in fever- 
ish anxiety, and every now and then opened the door, 
looked wistfully into the dark and empty street, and 
again returned, to be again and again disappointed. We 
beheld the look of patience with which she bore the brut- 
ish threat, nay, even the drunken blow ; and we heard 
the agony of tears that gushed from her very heart, as 
she sank upon her knees in her solitary and wretched 
apartment. 

A long period had elapsed, and a greater change had 


108 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


taken place, by the time of casting off the suit that hung 
above. It was that of a stout, broad-shouldered, sturdy- 
chested man ; and we knew at once, as anybody would, 
who glanced at that broad-skirted green coat, with the 
large metal buttons, that its wearer seldom walked forth 
without a dog at his heels, and some idle ruffian, the very 
counterpart of himself, at his side. The vices of the 
boy had grown with the man, and we fancied his home 
then — if such a place deserve the name. 

We saw the bare and miserable room, destitute of fur- 
niture, crowded with his wife and children, pale, hungry, 
and emaciated ; the man cursing their lamentations, stag- 
gering to the tap-room, from whence he had just returned, 
followed by his wife, and a sickly infant, clarporing for 
bread ; and heard the street-wrangle and noisy recrimi- 
nation that his striking her occasioned. And then imag- 
ination led us to some metropolitan workhouse, situated 
in the midst of crowded streets and allies, filled with 
noxious vapors, and ringing with boisterous cries, where 
an old and feeble woman, imploring pardon for her son, 
lay dying in a close dark room, with no child to clasp 
her hand, and no pure air from heaven to fan her brow. 
A stranger closed the eyes that settled into a cold un- 
meaning glare, and strange ears received the words that 
murmured from the white and half-closed lips. 

A coarse round frock, with a worn cotton neckerchief, 
and other articles of clothing of the commonest descrip- 
tion, completed the history. A prison, and the sentence 
— banishment or the gallows. What would the man 
have given then, to be once again the contented humble 
drudge of his boyish years ; to have restored to life, but 
for a week, a day, an hour, a minute, only for so long a 
time as would enable him to say one word of passionate 


MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH STREET. 109 


regret tc, and hear one sound of heartfelt forgiveness 
from, the cold and ghastly form that lay rotting in the 
pauper’s grave ! The children wild in the streets, the 
mother a destitute widow ; both deeply tainted with the 
deep disgrace of the husband and father’s name, and im- 
pelled by sheer necessity, down the precipice that had led 
him to a lingering death, possibly of many years’ dura- 
tion, thousands of miles away. We had no clue to the 
end of the tale ; but it was easy to guess its termination. 

We took a step or two further on, and by way of re- 
storing the naturally cheerful tone of our thoughts, began 
fitting visionary feet and legs into a cellar-board full of 
boots and shoes, with a speed and accuracy that would 
have astonished the most expert artist in leather, living 
There was one pair of boots in particular — a jolly, good- 
tempered, hearty-looking, pair of tops, that excited our 
warmest regard ; and we had got a fine, red-faced, jovial 
fellow of a market-gardener into them, before we had 
made their acquaintance half a minute. They were just 
the very thing for him. There were his huge fat legs 
bulging over the tops, and fitting them too tight to admit 
of his tucking in the loops he had pulled them on by ; 
and his knee-cords with an interval of stocking ; and his 
blue apron tucked up round his waist ; and his red neck- 
erchief and blue coat, and a white hat stuck on one side 
of his head ; and there he stood with a broad grin on his 
great red face, whistling away, as if any other idea but 
that of being happy and comfortable had never entered 
his brain. 

This was the very man after our own heart • we knew 
all about him ; we had seen him coming up to Covent 
Garden in his green chaise-cart, with the fat T ubby little 
horse, half a thousand times ; and even while we cast an 


110 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


affectionate look upon his boots, at that instant, the form 
of a coquettish servant-maid suddenly sprung into a pair 
of Denmark satin shoes that stood beside them, and we 
at once recognized the very girl who accepted his offer 
of a ride, just on this side the Hammersmith suspension- 
bridge, the very last Tuesday morning we rode into town 
from Richmond. 

A very smart female, in a showy bonnet, stepped into 
a pair of gray cloth boots, with black fringe and binding, 
that were studiously pointing out their toes on the other 
side of the top-boots, and seemed very anxious to engage 
his attention, but we didn’t observe that our friend the 
market-gardener appeared at all captivated with these 
blandishments ; for beyond giving a knowing wink when 
they first began, as if to imply that he quite understood 
their end and object, he took no further notice of them. 
His indifference, however, was amply recompensed by 
the excessive gallantry of a very old gentleman with a 
silver-headed stick, who tottered into a pair of large list 
shoes, that were standing in one corner of the board, and 
indulged in a variety of gestures expressive of his ad- 
miration of the lady in the cloth boots, to the immeas- 
urable amusement of a young fellow we put into a pair 
of long-quartered pumps, who we thought would have 
split the coat that slid down to meet him, with laughing. 

We had been looking on at this little pantomime with 
great satisfaction for some time, when, to our unspeakable 
astonishment, we perceived that the whole of the charac- 
ters, including a numerous corps de ballet of boots and 
shoes in the background, into which we had been hastily 
thrusting as many feet as we could press into the service, 
were arranging themselves in order for dancing; and 
Borne music striking up at the moment, to it they went 


MEDITATIONS IN MONMOUTH STREET. 


Ill 


without delay. It was perfectly delightful to witness the 
agility of the market-gardener. Out went the boots, first 
on one side, then on the other, then cutting, then shuffling, 
then setting to the Denmark satins, then advancing, then 
retreating, then going round, and then repeating the 
whole of the evolutions again, without appearing to 
suffer in the least from the violence of the exercise. 

Nor were the Denmark satins a bit behindhand, for 
they jumped and bounded about, in all directions ; and 
though they were neither so regular, nor so true to the 
time as the cloth boots, still, as they seemed to do it from 
the heart, and to enjoy it more, we candidly confess that 
we preferred their style of dancing to the other. Buf 
the old gentleman in the list shoes was the most amusing 
object in the whole party ; for, besides his grotesque 
attempts to appear youthful, and amorous, which were 
sufficiently entertaining in themselves, the young fellow 
in the pumps managed so artfully that every time the 
old gentleman advanced to salute the lady in the cloth 
boots, he trod with his whole weight on the old fellow's 
toes, which made him roar with anguish, and rendered 
all the others like to die of laughing. 

We were in the full enjoyment of these festivities 
when we heard a shrill, and by no means musical voice, 
exclaim, “ Hope you’ll know me agin, imperence ! ” and 
on looking intently forward to see from whence the sound 
came, we found that it proceeded, not from the young 
<ady in the cloth boots, as we had at first been inclined 
to suppose, but from a bulky lady of elderly appearance 
who was seated in a chair at the head of the cellar-steps, 
apparently for the purpose of superintending the sale of 
the articles arranged there. 

A barrel organ which had been in full force close be- 


112 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


hind us, censed playing ; the people we had been fitting 
into the shoes and boots took to flight at the interruption; 
and as we were conscious that in the depth of our medi- 
tations we might have been rudely staring at the old lady 
for half an hour without knowing it, we took to flight too, 
and were soon immersed in the deepest obscurity of the 
adjacent “ Dials.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

HACKNEY-COACH STANDS. 

We maintain that hackney-coaches, properly so called, 
belong solely to the metropolis. We may be told, that 
there are hackney-coach stands in Edinburgh ; and not 
to go quite so far for a contradiction to our position, we 
may be reminded that Liverpool, Manchester, “ and other 
large towns ” (as the Parliamentary phrase goes), have 
their hackney-coach stands. We readily concede to these 
places, the possession of certain vehicles, which may look 
almost as dirty, and even go almost as slowly, as London 
hackney-coaches : but that they have the slightest claim 
to compete with the metropolis, either in point of stands, 
drivers, or cattle, we indignantly deny. 

Take a regular, ponderous, rickety, London hackney- 
coach of the old school, and let any man have the bold- 
ness to assert, if he can, that he ever beheld any object 
on the face of the earth which at all resembles it, unless, 
indeed, it were another hackney-coach of the same date. 
We have recently observed on certain stands, and we 
Bay it with deep regret, rather dapper green chariots, and 


HACKNEY-COACH STANDS. 


113 


coaches of polished yellow, with four wheels of the same 
color as the coach, whereas it is perfectly notorious to 
every one who has studied the subject, that every wheel 
ought to be of a different color, and a different size. 
These are innovations, and, like other miscalled improve- 
ments, awful signs of the restlessness of the public mind, 
and the little respect paid to our time-honored institu- 
tions. Why should hackney-coaches be clean? Our 
ancestors found them dirty, and left them so. Why 
should we, with a feverish wish to “ keep moving,” desii-e 
to roll along at the rate of six miles an hour, while they 
were content to rumble over the stones at four ? These 
are solemn considerations. Hackney-coaches are part and 
parcel of the law of the land ; they were settled by the 
Legislature ; plated and numbered by the wisdom of 
Parliament. 

Then why have they been swamped by cabs and omni- 
buses ? Or why should people be allowed to ride quickly 
for eightpence a mile, after Parliament had come to the 
solemn decision that they should pay a shilling a mile for 
riding slowly ? We pause for a reply ; — and, having no 
chance of getting one, begin a fresh paragraph. 

Our acquaintance with hackney-coach stands is of long 
standing. We are a walking book of fares, feeling our- 
selves half-bound, as it were, to be always in the right on 
contested points. We know all the regular watermen 
within three miles of Covent Garden by sight, and should 
be almost tempted to believe that all the hackney-coach 
horses in that district knew us by sight too, if one half 
of them were not blind. We take great interest in 
hackney-coaches, but we seldom drive, having a knack 
of turning ourselves over, when we attempt to do so. 
We are as great friends to horses, hackney-coach and 

vol. i. 8 


114 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


otherwise, as the renowned Mr. Martin, of costermongei 
notoriety, and yet we never ride. We keep no horse, 
but a clothes-horse ; enjoy no saddle so much as a saddle 
of mutton ; and, following our own inclinations, have 
never followed the hounds. Leaving these fleeter means 
of getting over the ground, or of depositing one’s self upon 
it, to those who like them, by hackney-coach stands we 
take our stand. 

There is a hackney-coach stand under the very win- 
dow at which we are writing ; there is only one coach on 
it now, but it is a fair specimen of the class of vehicles 
to which we have alluded — a great, lumbering, square 
concern of a dingy yellow color (like a bilious brunette), 
with very small glasses, but very large frames ; the pan- 
els are ornamented with a faded coat of arms, in shape 
something like a dissected bat, the axletree is red, and 
the majority of the wheels are green. The box is par- 
tially covered by an old great-coat, with a multiplicity 
of capes, and some extraordinary-looking clothes ; and 
the straw with which the canvas cushion is stuffed is 
sticking up in several places, as if in rivalry of the hay, 
which is peeping through the chinks in the boot. The 
horses, with drooping heads, and each with a mane and 
tail as scanty and straggling as those of a worn-out rock- 
ing-horse, are standing patiently on some damp straw, 
occasionally wincing, and rattling the harness ; and, now 
and then, one of them lifts his mouth to the ear of his 
companion, as if he were saying, in a whisper, that he 
should like to assassinate the coachman. The coachman 
himself is in the watering-house ; and the waterman, 
with his hands forced into his pockets, as far as they can 
possibly go, is dancing the “ double shuffle,” in front cf 
the pump, to keep his feet \varm. 


HACKNEY-COACH STANDS. 


115 


The servant-girl, with the pink ribbons, at No. 5, op- 
posite, suddenly opens the street door, and four small 
children forthwith rush out, and scream “ Coach ! ” with 
all their might and main. The waterman darts from the 
pump, seizes the horses by their respective bridles, and 
drags them, and the coach too, round to the house, shouting 
all the time for the coachman at the very top, or rather 
very bottom of his voice, for it is a deep bass growl. A 
response is heard from the tap-room ; the coachman, in his 
wooden-soled shoes, makes the street echo again as he 
runs across it ; and then there is such a struggling, and 
backing, and grating of the kennel, to get the coach-door 
opposite the house-door, that the children are in perfect 
ecstasies of delight. What a commotion ! The old lady, 
who has been stopping there for the last month, is going 
back to the country. Out comes box after box, and one 
side of the vehicle is filled with luggage in no time ; the 
children get into everybody’s way, and the youngest, who 
has upset himself in his attempts to carry an umbrella, 
is borne off wounded and kicking. The youngsters dis- 
appear, and a short pause ensues, during which the old 
lady is, no doubt, kissing them all round in the back- 
parlor. She appears at last, followed by her married 
daughter, all the children, and both the servants, who, 
with the joint assistance of the coachman and waterman, 
manage to get her safely into the coach. A cloak is 
handed in, and a little basket, which we could almost 
swear contains a small black bottle, and a paper of sand- 
wiches. Up go the steps, bang goes the door, “ Golden 
Cross, Charing Cross, Tom,” says the waterman, “ Good- 
by, grandma,” cry the children, off jingles the coach at 
the rate of three miles an hour, and the mamma and 
children retire into the house, with the exception of one 


116 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


little villain, who runs up the street at the top of his 
speed, pursued by the servant ; not ill pleased to have 
such an opportunity of displaying her attractions. She 
brings him back, and, after casting two or three gracious 
glances across the way, which are either intended for 
us or the potboy (we are not quite certain which) shuts 
the door, and the hackney-coach stand is again at a stand 
still. 

We have been frequently amused with the intense de- 
light with which “ a servant of all work/’ who is sent for 
a coach, deposits herself inside ; and the unspeakable 
gratification which boys, who have been despatched on a 
similar errand, appear to derive from mounting the box. 
But we never recollect to have been more amused with 
a hackney-coach party, than one we saw early the other 
morning in Tottenham Court road. It was a wedding 
party, and emerged from one of the inferior streets near 
Fitzroy Square. There were the bride, with a thin 
white dress, and a great red face ; and the bridesmaid, a 
little, dumpy, good-humored young woman, dressed, of 
course, in the same appropriate costume ; and the bride- 
groom and his chosen friend, in blue coats, yellow waist- 
coats, white trousers, and Berlin gloves to match. They 
stopped at the corner of the street, and called a coach 
with an air of indescribable dignity. The moment they 
were in, the bridesmaid threw a red shawl, which she 
had, no doubt, brought on purpose, negligently over the 
number on the door, evidently to delude pedestrians into 
the belief that the hackney-coach was a private car- 
riage ; and away they went, perfectly satisfied that the 
imposition was successful, and quite unconscious that 
there was a great staring number stuck up behind, on a 
plate as large as a schoolboy’s slate. A shilling a mile ! 
— the ride was worth five, at least, to them. 


HACKNEY-COACH STANDS. 


117 


What an interesting book a hackney-coach might pro- 
duce, if it could carry as much in its head as it does in 
its body ! The autobiography of a broken-down hack- 
ney-coach, would surely be as amusing as the autobi- 
ography of a broken-down hackneyed dramatist ; and it 
might tell as much of its travels with the pole, as others 
have of their expeditions to it. How many stories might 
he related of the different people it had conveyed on 
matteis of business or profit — pleasure or pain ! And 
how many melancholy tales of the same people at differ- 
ent periods ! The country-girl — the showy, over-dressed 
woman — the drunken prostitute ! The raw apprentice 
— the dissipated spendthrift — the thief ! 

Talk of cabs ! Cabs are all very well in cases of ex- 
pedition, when it’s a matter of neck or nothing, life or 
death, your temporary home or your long one. But, 
beside a cab’s lacking that gravity of deportment which 
so peculiarly distinguishes a hackney-coach, let it never 
be forgotten that a cab is a thing of yesterday, and that 
he never was anything better. A hackney-cab has 
always been a liackney-cab, from his first entry into 
public life ; whereas a hackney-coach is a remnant of 
past gentility, a victim to fashion, a hanger-on of an old 
English family, wearing their arms, and, in days of yore, 
escorted by men wearing their livery, stripped of his 
finery, and thrown upon the world, like a once-smart 
footman when he is no longer sufficiently juvenile for his 
office, progressing lower and lower in the scale of four- 
wheeled degradation, until at last it comes to — a stand J 


118 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

doctors’ commons. 

Walking without any definite object, through St 
Paul’s Churchyard, a little while ago, we happened to 
turn down a street entitled “ Paul’s Chin,” and keeping 
straight forward for a few hundred yards, found ourself, 
as a natural consequence, in Doctors’ Commons. Now 
Doctor’s Commons being familiar by name to everybody, 
as the place where they grant marriage-licenses to love- 
sick couples, and divorces to unfaithful ones ; register the 
wills of people who have any property to leave, and 
punish hasty gentlemen who call ladies by unpleasant 
names, we no sooner discovered that we were really 
within its precincts, than we felt a laudable desire to 
become better acquainted therewith ; and as the first 
object of our curiosity was the Court, whose decrees can 
even unloose the bonds of matrimony, we procured a 
direction to it ; and bent our steps thither without delay. 

Crossing a quiet and shady courtyard, paved with 
stone, and frowned upon by old red brick houses, on the 
doors of which were painted the names of sundry learned 
civilians, we paused before a small, green-baized, brass- 
headed-nailed door, which yielding to our gentle push, at 
once admitted us into an old quaint-looking apartment, 
with sunken windows, and black carved wainscoting, at 
the upper end of which, seated on a raised platform, of 
semicircular shape, were about a dozen solemn-looking 
gentlemen in crimson gowns and wigs. 


DOCTORS’ COMMONS. 


119 


At a more elevated desk in the centre, sat a very 
fat and red-faced gentleman, in tortoise-shell spectacles, 
whose dignified appearance announced the judge ; and 
round a long green-baized table below, something like a 
billiard-table without the cushions and pockets, were a 
number of very self-important looking personages, in 
stiff neckcloths, and black gowns with white fur collars, 
whom we at once set down as proctors. At the lower 
( nd of the billiard-table was an individual in an arm- 
chair, and a wig, whom we afterwards discovered to be 
the registrar ; and seated behind a little desk, near the 
door, were a respectable-looking man in black, of about 
twenty stone weight or thereabouts, and a fat-faced, 
smirking, civil-looking body, in a black gown, black kid 
gloves, knee shorts, and silks, with a shirt-frill in his 
bosom, curls on his head, and a silver staff in his hand, 
whom we had no difficulty in recognizing as the officer 
of the Court. The latter, indeed, speedily set our mind 
at rest upon this point, for, advancing to our elbow, and 
opening a conversation forthwith, he had communicated 
to us, in less than five minutes, that he was the apparitor, 
and the other the court-keeper ; that this was the Arches 
Court, and therefore the counsel wore red gowns, and the 
proctors fur collars ; and that when the other courts sat 
there, they didn’t wear red gowns or fur collars either ; 
with many other scraps of intelligence equally interest- 
ing. Besides these two officers, there was a little thin 
old man, with long grizzly hair, crouched in a remote 
corner, whose duty, our communicative friend informed 
ds, was to ring a large hand-bell when the Court opened 
in the morning, and who, for ought his appearance be- 
tokened to the contrary, might have been similarly em- 
ployed for the last two centuries, at least. 


120 


SKEiCHES BY BOZ. 


The red- faced gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles 
had got all the talk to himself just then, and very well 
he was doing it, too, only he spoke very fast, but that 
was habit ; and rather thick, but that was good living. 
So we had plenty of time to look about us. There was 
one individual who amused us mightily. This was one 
of the bewigged gentlemen in the red robes, who was 
straddling before the fire in the centre of the Court, in 
the attitude of the brazen Colossus, to the complete ex- 
clusion of everybody else. He had gathered up his robe 
behind, in much the same manner as a slovenly woman 
would her petticoats on a very dirty day, in order that he 
might feel the full warmth of the fire. His wig was put 
on all awry, with the tail straggling about his neck, his 
scanty gray trousers and short black gaiters, made in the 
worst possible style, imparted an additional inelegant 
appearance to his uncouth person ; and his limp, badly 
starched shirt-collar almost obscured his eyes. We shall 
never be able to claim any credit as a physiognomist 
again, for, after a careful scrutiny of this gentlemans 
countenance, we had come to the conclusion that it be- 
spoke nothing but conceit and silliness, when our friend 
with the silver staff whispered in our ear that he was no 
other than a doctor of civil law, and heaven knows what 
besides. So of course we were mistaken, and he must 
be a very talented man. He conceals it so well though 
— perhaps with the merciful view of not astonishing 
ordinary people too much — that you would suppose 
him to be one of the stupidest dogs alive. 

The gentleman in the spectacles having concluded his 
judgment, and a few minutes having been allowed to 
elapse, to afford time for the buzz in the Court to sub- 
side, the registrar called on the next cause, which was 


DOCTORS’ COMMONS. 


121 


“the office of the Judge promoted by Bumple against 
Sludberry.” A general movement was visible in the 
Court, at this announcement, and the obliging functionary 
with silver staff whispered us that “ there would be some 
fun now, for this was a brawling case.” 

We were not rendered much the wiser by this piece 
of information, till we found by the opening speech of 
the counsel for the promoter, that, under a half-obsolete 
statute of one of the Edwards, the court was empowered 
to visit with the penalty of excommunication, any person 
who should be proved guilty of the crime of “ brawling,” 
or “ smiting,” in any church, or vestry adjoining thereto ; 
and it appeared, by some eight-and-twenty affidavits, 
which were duly referred to, that on a certain night, at a 
certain vestry-meeting, in a certain parish particularly 
set forth, Thomas Sludberry, the party appeared against 
in that suit, had made use of, and applied to Michael 
Bumple, the promoter, the words “ You be blowed ; ” and 
that, on the said Michael Bumple and others remonstrat- 
ing with the said Thomas Sludberry on the impropriety 
of his conduct, the said Thomas Sludberry repeated the 
aforesaid expression, “ You be blowed ; ” and furthermore 
desired and requested to know, whether the said Michael 
Bumple “ wanted anything for himself ; ” adding, “ that 
if the said Michael Bumple did want anything for him- 
self, he, the said Thomas Sludberry, was the man to give 
»t him ; ” and at the same time making use of other 
neinous and sinful expressions, all of which, Bumple sub- 
mitted, came within the intent and meaning of the Act ; 
and therefore he, for the soul’s health and chastening of 
Sludberry, prayed for sentence of excommunication 
against him accordingly. 

Upon these facts a long argument was entered into, on 


122 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


both sides, to the great edification of a number of per- 
sons interested in the parochial squabbles, who crowded 
the court ; and when some very long and grave speeches 
had been made pro and con. the red-faced gentleman in 
the tortoise-shell spectacles took a review of the case, 
which occupied half an hour more, and then pronounced 
upon Sludberry the awful sentence of excommunication 
for a fortnight, and payment of the costs of the suit. 
Upon this, Sludberry, who was a little, red-faced, sly- 
looking, ginger-beer seller, addressed the court, and said, 
if they’d be good enough to take off the costs, and ex- 
communicate him for the term of his natural life instead, 
it would be much more convenient to him, for he never 
went to church at all. To this appeal the gentleman in 
the spectacles made no other reply than a look of virt- 
uous indignation ; and Sludberry and his friends retired. 
As the man with the silver staff informed us that the 
court was on the point of rising, we retired too — pon- 
dering, as we walked away, upon the beautiful spirit of 
these ancient ecclesiastical laws, the kind and neighborly 
feelings they are calculated to awaken, and the strong 
attachment to religious institutions which they cannot fail 
to engender. 

We were so lost in these meditations, that we had 
turned into the street, and run up against a door-post, 
before we recollected where we were walking. On look- 
ing upwards to see what house we had stumbled upon, 
the words “ Prerogative Office,” written in large charac- 
ters, met our eye ; and as we were in a sight-seeing 
humor and the place was a public one, we walked in. 

The room into which we walked, was a long, busy- 
looking place, partitioned off, on either side, intc a variety 
if little boxes, in which a few clerks were engaged iu 


DOCTORS’ COMMONS. 


123 


copying or examining deeds. Down the centre of the 
room were several desks nearly breast-high, at each of 
which, three or four people were standing, poring over 
large volumes. As we knew that they were searching 
for wills, they attracted our attention at once. 

It was curious to contrast the lazy indifference of the 
attorneys’ clerks who were making a search for some 
legal purpose, with the air of earnestness and interest 
which distinguished the strangers to the place, who were 
looking up the will of some deceased relative ; the for- 
mer pausing every now and then with an impatient yawn, 
or raising their heads to look at the people who passed 
up and down the room ; the latter stooping over the 
book, and running down column after column of names 
in the deepest abstraction. 

There was one little dirty-faced man in a blue apron, 
who after a whole morning’s search, extending some fifty 
years back, had just found the will to which he wished to 
refer, which one of the officials was reading to him in a 
low hurried voice from a thick vellum book with large 
clasps. It was perfectly evident that the more the clerk 
read, the less the man with the blue apron understood 
about the matter. When the volume was first brought 
down, he took off his hat, smoothed down his hair, smiled 
with great self-satisfaction, and looked up in the reader’s 
face with the air of a man who had mdde up his mind 
to recollect every word he heard. The first two or three 
lines were intelligible enough ; but then the technicalities 
began, and the little man began to look rather dubious. 
Then came a whole string of complicated trusts, and he 
was regularly at sea. As the reader proceeded, it was 
quite apparent that it was a hopeless case, and the little 
man, with his mouth open and his eyes fixed upon his 


124 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Face, looked on with an expression of bewilderment and 
perplexity irresistibly ludicrous. 

A little further on, a hard-featured old man with a 
deeply wrinkled face, was intently perusing a lengthy 
will with the aid of a pair of horn spectacles : occasion- 
ally pausing from his task, and silly noting down some 
brief memorandum of the bequests contained in it. 
Every wrinkle about his toothless mouth, and sharp keen 
eyes, told of avarice and cunning. His clothes were 
nearly threadbare, but it was easy to see that he wore 
them from choice and not from necessity ; all his looks 
and gestures down to the very small pinches of snuff 
which he every now and then took from a little tin 
canister, told of wealth, and penury, and avarice. 

As he leisurely closed the register, put up his specta- 
cles, and folded his scraps of paper in a large leathern 
pocket-book, we thought what a nice hard bargain he was 
driving with some poverty stricken legatee, who, tired of 
waiting year after year, until some life-interest should fall 
in, was selling his chance, just as it began to grow most 
valuable, for a twelfth part of its worth. It was a good 
speculation — a very safe one. The old man stowed 
his pocket-book carefully in the breast of his great-coat, 
and hobbled away with a leer of triumph. That will 
had made him ten years younger at the lowest computa- 
tion. • 

Having commenced our observations, we should cer- 
tainly have extended them to another dozen of people at 
least, had not a sudden shutting up and putting away of 
the worm-eaten old books, warned us that the time for 
closing the office had arrived ; and thus deprived us of a 
pleasure, and spared our readers an infliction. 

We naturally fell into a train of reflection as we walked 


LONDON RECREATIONS. 


125 


homewards, upon the curious old records of likings and 
dislikings ; of jealousies and revenges ; of affection defy 
ing the power of death, and hatred pursued beyond the 
grave, which these depositaries contain ; silent but strik- 
ing tokens, some of them, of excellence of heart, and 
nobleness of soul ; melancholy examples, others, of the 
worst passions of human nature. How many men as 
they lay speechless and helpless on the bed of death, 
would have given worlds but for the strength and power 
to blot out the silent evidence of animosity and bitter- 
ness, which now stands registered against them in Doc- 
tors’ Commons ! 


CHAPTER IX. 

LONDON RECREATIONS. 

The wish of persons in the humbler classes of life to 
ape the manners and customs of those whom fortune has 
placed above them, is often the subject of remark, and 
not unfrequently of complaint. The inclination may, and 
no doubt does, exist to a great extent, among the small 
gentility — the would-be aristocrats — of the middle 
classes. Tradesmen and clerks, with fashionable novel- 
reading families, and circulating - library - subscribing 
daughters, get up small assemblies in humble imitation 
of Almack’s, and promenade the dingy “ large room ” of 
some second-rate hotel with as much complacency as the 
enviable few who are privileged to exhibit their magnifi- 
cence in that exclusive haunt of fashion and foolery 


126 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Aspiring young ladies, who read flaming accounts of 
some “ fancy fair in high life,” suddenly grow desperately 
charitable ; visions of admiration and matrimony float 
before their eyes ; some wonderfully meritorious institu- 
tion, which, by the strangest accident in the world, has 
never been heard of before, is discovered to be in a lan- 
guishing condition : Thomson’s great room, or Johnson’s 
nursery ground is forthwith engaged, and the aforesaid 
young ladies, from mere charity, exhibit themselves for 
three days, from twelve to four, for the small charge of 
one shilling per head ! With the exception of these 
classes of society, how r ever, and a few weak and insignifi- 
cant persons, we do not think the attempt at imitation 
to which we have alluded, prevails in any great degree. 
The different character of the recreations of different 
classes, has often afforded us amusement ; and we have 
chosen it for the subject of our present sketch, in the 
hope that it may possess some amusement for our 
readers. 

If the regular City man, who leaves Lloyd’s at five 
o’clock, and drives home to Hackney, Clapton, Stamford 
Hill or elsewhere, can be said to have any daily recreation 
beyond his dinner, it is his garden. He never does any 
thing to it with his own hands ; but he takes great pride 
in it notwithstanding ; and if you are desirous of paying 
your addresses to the youngest daughter, be sure to be 
in raptures with every flower and shrub it contains. If 
your poverty of expression compel you to make any dis- 
tinction between the two, we would certainly recommend 
your bestowing more admiration on his garden than his 
wine. He always takes a walk round it, before he starts 
for town in the morning, and is particularly anxious that 
the fish-pond should be kept specially neat. If you call 


LONDON RECREATIONS. 


127 


an him on Sunday in summer-time, about an hour before 
dinner, you will find him sitting in an arm-chair, on the 
lawn behind the house, with a straw-hat on, reading a 
Sunday paper. A short distance from him you will most 
likely observe a handsome paroquet in a large brass-wire 
cage : ten to one but the two eldest girls are loitering in 
one of the side- walks accompanied by a couple of young 
gentlemen, who are holding parasols over them — of 
course only to keep the sun off — while the younger chil- 
dren, with the under nursery-maid, are strolling listlessly 
about, in the shade. Beyond these occasions, his delight 
in his garden appears to arise more from the conscious- 
ness of possession than actual enjoyment of it. When 
he drives you down to dinner on a week-day, he is rather 
fatigued with*the occupations of the morning, and toler- 
ably cross into the bargain ; but when the cloth is re- 
moved, and he has drank three or four glasses of his 
favorite port, he orders the French windows of his din- 
ing-room (which of course look into the garden) to be 
opened, and throwing a silk handkerchief over his head, 
and leaning back in his arm-chair, descants at consider- 
able length upon its beauty, and the cost of maintaining 
it. This is to impress you — who are a young friend of 
the family — with a due sense of the excellence of the 
garden, and the wealth of its owner ; and when he has 
exhausted the subject, he goes to sleep. 

There is another and a very different class of men, 
whose recreation is their garden. An individual of this 
class, resides some short distance from town — say in the 
Hampstead Road, or the Kilburn Road, or any other road 
where the houses are small and neat, and have little slips 
of back garden. He and his wife — who is as clean and 
compact a little body as himself — have occupied the 


128 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


same house ever since he retired from business twenty 
years ago. They have no family. They once had a son, 
who died at about five years old. The child’s portrait 
hangs over the mantelpiece in the best sitting-room, and 
a little cart he used to draw about is carefully preserved 
as a relic. 

In fine weather the old gentleman is almost constantly 
in the garden ; and when it is too wet to go into it, he 
will look out of the window at it by the hour together. 
He has always something to do there, and you will see 
him digging, and sweeping, and cutting, and planting, 
with manifest delight. In spring-time, there is no end 
to the sowing of seeds, and sticking little bits of wood 
over them, with labels, which look like epitaphs to their 
memory ; and in the evening, when the sun has gone 
down, the perseverance with which he lugs a great water- 
ing-pot about is perfectly astonishing. The only other 
recreation he has, is the newspaper, which he peruses 
every day, from beginning to end, generally reading the 
most interesting pieces of intelligence to his wife, during 
breakfast. The old lady is very fond of flowers, as the 
hyacinth-glasses in the parlor-window, and geranium-pots 
in the little front court, testify. She takes great pride in 
the garden too : and when one of the four fruit-trees pro- 
duces rather a larger gooseberry than usual, it is carefully 
preserved under a wine-glass on the sideboard, for the 
edification of visitors, who are duly informed that Mr. 
So-and-so planted the tree which produced it, with his 
own hands. On a summer’s evening, when the large 
watering-pot has been filled and emptied some fourteen 
times, and the old couple have quite exhausted them- 
selves by trotting about, you will see them sitting happily 
together in the little summer-house, enjoying the calm 


LONDON RECREATIONS. 


129 


and peace of the twilight, and watching the shadows as 
they fall upon the garden, and gradually growing thicker 
and more sombre, obscure the tints of their gayest flow- 
ers — no had emblem of the years that have silently 
rolled over their heads, deadening in their course the 
brightest hues of early hopes and feelings which have 
long since faded away. These are their only recreations, 
and they require no more. They have within them- 
selves the materials of comfort and content ; and the 
only anxiety of each, is to die before the other. 

This is no ideal sketch. There used to be many old 
people of this description ; their numbers may have 
diminished, and may decrease still more. Whether the 
course female education has taken of late days — whether 
the pursuit of giddy frivolities, and empty nothings, has 
tended to unfit women for that quiet domestic life, in 
which they show far more beautifully than in the most 
crowded assembly, is a question we should feel little grat- 
ification in discussing : we hope not. 

Let us turn now, to another portion of the London 
population, whose recreations present about as strong a 
contrast as can well be conceived — we mean the Sun- 
day pleasurers ; and let us beg our readers to imagine 
themselves stationed by our side in some well-known 
rural “ Tea Gardens.” 

The heat is intense this afternoon, and the people, of 
whom there are additional parties arriving every moment, 
look as warm as the tables which have been recently 
painted, and have the appearance of being red-hot. What 
a dust and noise ! Men and women — boys and girls — 
sweethearts and married people — babies in arms, and 
children in chaises — pipes and shrimps — cigars and 
periwinkles — tea and tobacco. Gentlemen, in alarming 
VOL. I. 9 


130 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


waistcoats, and steel watch-guards, promenading about, 
three abreast, with surprising dignity (or as the gentle- 
man in the next box facetiously observes, “ cutting it 
uncommon fat ! ”) — ladies, with great, long, white pock- 
et-handkerchiefs like small table-cloths, in their hands, 
chasing one another on the grass in the most playful and 
interesting manner, with the view of attracting the atten- 
tion of the aforesaid gentlemen — husbands in perspec- 
tive ordering bottles of ginger-beer for the objects of 
their affections, with a lavish disregard of expense ; and 
the said objects washing down huge quantities of 
u shrimps ” and “ winkles,” with an equal disregard of 
their own bodily health and subsequent comfort — boys, 
with great silk hats just balanced on the top of their 
heads, smoking cigars, and trying to look as if they liked 
them — gentlemen in pink shirts and blue waistcoats, 
occasionally upsetting either themselves or somebody 
else, with their own canes. 

Some of the finery of these people provokes a smile, 
but they are all clean, and happy, and disposed to be 
good-natured and sociable. Those two motherly looking 
women in the smart pelisses, who are chatting so confi- 
dentially, inserting a “ ma’am ” at every fourth word, 
scraped an acquaintance about a quarter of an hour ago : 
it originated in admiration of the little boy who belongs 
to one of them — that diminutive specimen of mortality 
in the three-cornered pink^satin hat with black feathers. 
The two men in the blue coats and drab trousers, who 
are walking up and down, smoking their pipes, are their 
husbands. The party in the opposite box are a pretty 
fair specimen of the generality of the visitors. These 
are the father and mother, and old grandmother ; a 
young man and woman, and an individual addressed by 


LONDON RECREATIONS. 


131 


the euphonious title of “ Uncle Bill,” who is evidently 
the wit of the party. They have some half-dozen chil- 
dren with them, hut it is scarcely necessary to notice the 
fact, for that is a matter of course here. Every woman 
in “ the gardens,” who has been married for any length 
of time, must have had twins on two or three occasions ; 
it is impossible to account for the extent of juvenile popu- 
lation in any other way. 

Observe the inexpressible delight of the old grand- 
mother, at Uncle Bill’s splendid joke of “ tea for four : 
bread and butter for forty ; ” and the loud explosion of 
mirth which follows his wafering a paper “ pigtail ” on 
the waiter’s collar. The young man is evidently “ keep 
ing company ” with Uncle Bill’s niece : and Uncle Bill’s 
hints — such as “ Don’t forget me at the dinner, you 
know,” “ I shall look out for the cake, Sally,” “ I’ll 
be god-father to your first — wager it’s a boy,” and so 
forth, are equally embarrassing to the young people, and 
delightful to the elder ones. As to the old grandmother, 
she is in perfect ecstasies, and does nothing but laugh 
herself into fits of coughing, until they have finished the 
“ gin-and- water warm with,” of which Uncle Bill or- 
dered “glasses round” after tea, “just to keep the night- 
air out, and do it up comfortable and riglar arter sitch 
an as-tonishing hot day ! ” 

It is getting dark and the people begin to move. The 
field leading to town is quite full of them ; the little hand- 
chaises are dragged wearily along, the children are tired, 
and amuse themselves and the company generally by 
crying, or resort to the much more pleasant expedient of 
going to sleep — the mothers begin to wish they were at 
home again — sweethearts grow more sentimental than 
ever, as the time for parting arrives — - the gardens look 


132 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


mournful enough, by the light of the two lanterns which 
hang against the trees for the convenience of smokers — 
and the waiters, who have been running about incessantly 
for the last six hours, think they feel a little tired, as 
they count their glasses and their gains. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE RIVER. 

“ Are you fond of the water ? ” is a question very 
frequently asked, in hot summer weather, by amphib- 
ious-looking young men. “ Very,” is the general reply. 
“ A’n’t you ? ” — “ Hardly ever off it,” is the response, ac- 
companied by sundry adjectives, expressive of the speak- 
er’s heartfelt admiration of that element. Now, with 
all respect for the opinion of society in general, and cut- 
ter clubs in particular, we humbly suggest that some of 
the most painful reminiscences in the mind of every in- 
dividual who has occasionally disported himself on the 
Thames, must be connected with his aquatic recreations. 
Who ever heard of a successful water-party ? — or to put 
the question in a still more intelligible form, who ever 
saw one ? We have been on water excursions out of nuim 
ber, but we solemnly declare that we cannot call to mind 
one single occasion of the kind, which was not marked 
by more miseries than any one would suppose could 
reasonably be crowded into the space of some eight or 
nine hours. Something has always gone wrong. Either 
the cork of the salad-dressing has come out, or the most 
anxiously expected member of the party has not come. 


THE RIVER. 


138 


or the most disagreeable man in company would come 
out, or a child or two have fallen into the water, or the 
gentleman who undertook to steer has endangered every- 
body’s life all the way, or the gentlemen who volunteered 
to row have been “ out of practice,” and performed very 
alarming evolutions, putting their oars down into the 
water and not being able to get them up again, or taking 
terrific pulls without putting them in at all; in either 
case, pitching over on the backs of their heads with 
startling violence, and exhibiting the soles of their pumps 
to the “ sitters ” in the boat, in a very humiliating manner. 

We grant that the banks of the Thames are very 
beautiful at Richmond and Twickenham, and other dis- 
tant havens, often sought though seldom reached; but 
from the “ Red Us ” back to Blackfriar’s Bridge, the 
scene is wonderfully changed. The Penitentiary is a 
noble building, no doubt, and the sportive youths who 
“go in ” at that particular part of the river, on a sum- 
mers evening, may be all very well in perspective ; but 
when you are obliged to keep in shore coming home, and 
the young ladies will color up, and look perseveringly the 
other way, while the married dittoes cough slightly, and 
stare very hard at the water, you feel awkward — espe- 
cially if you happen to have been attempting the most 
distant approach to sentimentality, for an hour or two 
previously. 

Although experience and suffering have produced in 
our minds the result we have just stated, we are by no 
means blind to a proper sense of the fun w r hich a looker- 
on may extract from the amateurs of boating. What can 
be more amusing than Searle’s yard on a fine Sunday 
morning ? It’s a Richmond tide, and some dozen boats 
are preparing for the reception of the parties who have 


134 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


engaged them. Two or three fellows in great rough 
trousers and Guernsey shirts, are getting them ready by 
easy stages ; now coming down the yard with a pair of 
sculls and a cushion — then having a chat with the 
“jack,” who, like all his tribe, seems to be wholly inca- 
pable of doing anything but lounging about — then 
going back again, and returning with a rudder-line and a 
stretcher — then solacing themselves with another chat 
— and then wondering, with their hands in their capa- 
cious pockets, “ where them gentlemen’s got to as ordered 
the six.” One of these, the headman, with the legs of 
his trousers carefully tucked up at the bottom, to admit 
the water, we presume — for it is an element in which 
he is infinitely more at home than on land — is quite a 
character, and shares with the defunct oyster-swallower 
the celebrated name of “ Dando.” Watch him, as taking 
a few minutes’ respite from his toils, he negligently seats 
himself on the edge of a boat, and fans his broad bushy 
chest with a cap scarcely half so furry. Look at his 
magnificent, though reddish whiskers, and mark the 
somewhat native humor with which he “ chaffs ” the 
boys and prentices, or cunningly gammons the gen’l’m’n 
into the gift of a glass of gin, of which we verily believe 
he swallows in one day as much as any six ordinary men, 
without ever being one atom the worse for it. 

But the party arrives, and Dando relieved from his 
state of uncertainty, starts up into activity. They ap- 
proach in full aquatic costume, with round blue jackets, 
striped shirts, and caps of all sizes ar i patterns, from the 
velvet skull-cap of French manufacture, to the easy head- 
dress familiar to the students of the old spelling-books, as 
having, on the authority of the portrait, formed part of 
the costume of the Reverend Mr. Dil worth. 


THE RIVER. 


135 


This is the most amusing time to observe a regular 
Sunday water-party. There has evidently been up tc 
this period no inconsiderable degree of boasting on every- 
body’s part relative to his knowledge of navigation ; the 
sight of the water rapidly cools their courage, and the 
air of self-denial with which each of them insists on 
somebody else’s taking an oar, is perfectly delightful. At 
length, after a great deal of changing and fidgeting, con- 
sequent upon the election of a stroke-oar: the inability 
of one gentleman to pull on this side, of another to pull 
on that, and of a third to pull at all, the boat’s crew are 
seated. “ Shove her off! ” cries the cockswain, who looks 
as easy and comfortable as if he were steering in the Bay 
of Biscay. The order is obeyed ; the boat is imme- 
diately turned completely round, and proceeds towards 
Westminster Bridge, amidst such a splashing and strug- 
gling as never was seen before, except when the Royal 
George went down. “ Back wa’ater, sir,” shouts Dando, 
“ Back wa’ater, you sir, aft ; ” upon which everybody 
thinking he must be the individual referred to, they all 
back water, and back come3 the boat, stern first, to the 
spot whence it started. “ Back water, you sir, aft ; pull 
round, you sir, for’ad, can’t you ? ” shouts Dando, in a 
frenzy of excitement. “ Pull round, Tom, can’t ycu ? ” 
reechoes one of the party. “ Tom a’n’t for’ad,” replies 
another. “Yes, he is,” cries a third ; and the unfortunate 
young man, at the imminent risk of breaking a blood- 
vessel, pulls and pulls, until the head of the boat fairly 
lies in the direction of Vauxhall Bridge. “ That’s right 
— now pull all on you ! ” shouts Dando again, adding, in 
an undertone, to somebody by him, “ Blowed if hever J 
see sich a set of muffs ! ” and away jogs the boat in a 
zigzag direction, every one of the six oars dipping into 


136 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


the water at a different time ; and the yard is once more 
clear, until the arrival of the next party. 

A well-contested rowing-match on the Thames, is a 
very lively and interesting scene. The water is studded 
with boats of all sorts, kinds, and descriptions ; places in 
the coal-barges at the different wharfs are let to crowds 
of spectators, beer and tobacco flow r freely about ; men, 
women, and children wait for the start in breathless ex- 
pectation, cutters of six and eight oars glide gently up 
and down, waiting to accompany their proteges during the 
race ; bands of music add to the animation, if not to the 
harmony of the scene, groups of watermen are assembled 
at the different stairs, discussing the merits of the re- 
spective candidates : and the prize-wherry which is 
rowed slowly about by a pair of skulls, is an object of 
general interest. 

Two o’clock strikes, and everybody looks anxiously in 
the direction of the bridge through which the candidates 
for the prize will come — half-past two, and the general 
attention which has been preserved so long begins to flag, 
when suddenly a gun is heard, and the noise of distant 
hurra ing, along each bank of the river — every head is 
bent forward — the noise draws nearer and nearer — 
the boats which have been waiting at the bridge start 
briskly up the river, and a well-manned galley shoots 
through the arch, the sitters cheering on the boats be- 
hind them, which are not yet visible. 

“ Here they are,” is the general cry — and through 
darts the first boat, the men in her stripped to the skin, 
and exerting every muscle to preserve the advantage they 
have gained — four other boats follow close astern ; there 
are not two boats’ length between them — the shouting 
Is tremendous, and the interest intense. “ Go on, Pink ” 


THE RIVER. 


187 


— “ Give it her, Red ” — “ Sulliwin forever ” — “ Bravo ! 
George ” — “ Now, Tom, now — now — now — why don’t 
your partner stretch out ? ” — “ Two pots to a pint on 
Yellow,” &c., &c. Every little public-house fires its 
gun, and hoists its flag ; and the men who win the heat, 
come in, amidst a splashing and shouting, and banging 
and confusion, which no one can imagine who has not 
witnessed it, and of which any description would convey 
a very faint idea. 

One of the most amusing places we know, is the 
Bteam-wharf of the London Bridge, or St. Katharine’s 
Dock Company, on a Saturday morning in summer, 
when the Gravesend and Margate steamers are usu- 
ally crowded to excess ; and as we have just taken a 
glance at the river above bridge, we hope our readers 
will not object to accompany us on board a Gravesend 
packet. 

Coaches are every moment setting down at the en- 
trance to the wharf, and the stare of bewildered astonish- 
ment with which the “ fares ” resign themselves and 
their luggage into the hands of the porters, who seize all 
the packages at once as a matter of course, and run away 
with them, heaven knows where, is laughable in the ex- 
treme. A Margate boat lies alongside the wharf, the 
Gravesend boat (which starts first) lies alongside that 
again ; and as a temporary communication is formed be- 
tween the two, by means of a plank and hand-rail, the 
natural confusion of the scene is by no means dimin- 
ished. 

u Gravesend ? ” inquires a stout father of a stout fam- 
ily, who follow him, under the guidance of their mother, 
and a servant, at the no small risk of two or three of 
them being left behind in the confusion. “ Gravesend ? ” 


188 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


“ Pass on, if you please, sir,” replies the attendant — 
K other boat, sir.” 

Hereupon the stout father, being rather mystified, and 
the stout mother rather distracted by maternal anxiety, 
the whole party deposit themselves in the Margate boat, 
and after having congratulated himself on having secured 
very comfortable seats, the stout father sallies to the 
chimney to look for his luggage, which he has a faint 
recollection of having given some man, something, to 
take somewhere. No luggage, however, bearing the 
most remote resemblance to his own, in shape or form, is 
to be discovered ; on which the stout father calls very 
loudly for an officer, to whom he states the case, in the 
presence of another father of another family — a little 
thin man — who entirely concurs with him (the stout 
father) in thinking that it’s high time something was 
done with these steam companies, and that as the Cor- 
poration Bill failed to do it, something else must ; for 
really people’s property is not to be sacrificed in this 
way ; and that if the luggage isn’t restored without 
delay, he will take care it shall be put in the papers, 
for the public is not to be the victim of these great 
monopolies. To this, the officer, in his turn, replies, that 
that company, ever since it has been St. Kat’rine’s Dock 
Company, has protected life and property ; that if it had 
been the London Bridge Wharf Company, indeed, he 
shouldn’t have wondered, seeing that the morality of that 
Company (they being the opposition) can’t be answered 
fi)r, by no one ; but as it is, he’s convinced there must be 
some mistake, and he wouldn’t mind making a solemn 
oath afore a magistrate, that the gentleman ’ll find his 
luggage afore he gets to Margate. 

Here the stout father, thinking he is making a capital 


THE RIVER. 


189 


point, replies, that as it happens, he is not going to Mar- 
gate at all, and that “ Passenger to Gravesend ” was on 
the luggage, in letters of full two inches long ; on which 
the officer rapidly explains the mistake, and the stout 
mother, and the stout children, and the servant, are hur- 
ried with all possible despatch on board the Gravesend 
boat, which they reach just in time to discover that their 
luggage is there, and that their comfortable seats are not* 
Then the bell, which is the signal for the Gravesend boat 
starting, begins to ring most furiously : and people keep 
time to the bell, by running in and out of our boat at a 
double-quick pace. The bell stops ; the boat starts : 
people who have been taking leave of their friends on 
board, are carried away against their will ; and people 
who have been taking leave of their friends on shore, 
find that they have performed a very needless ceremony, 
in consequence of their not being carried away at all. 
The regular passengers, who have season-tickets, go be- 
low to breakfast ; people who have purchased morning 
papers, compose themselves to read them ; and people 
who have not been down the river before, think that 
both the shipping and the water look a great deal better 
at a distance. 

When we get down about as far as Blackwall, and 
begin to move at a quicker rate, the spirits of the pas- 
sengers appear to rise in proportion. Old women who 
have brought large wicker hand-baskets with them, set 
seriously to work at the demolition of heavy sandwiches, 
and pass round a wine-glass, which is frequently replen- 
ished from a fiat bottle like a stomach-warmer, with con- 
siderable glee : handing it first to the gentleman in the 
foraging cap, who plays the harp — partly as an expres- 
sion of satisfaction with his previous exertions, and 


140 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


partly to induce him to play “ Dumbledumbdeary,” 
for “ Alick ” to dance to ; which being done, Alick, who 
is a damp earthy child in red worsted socks, takes certain 
small jumps upon the deck, to the unspeakable satisfac- 
tion of his family circle. Girls who ha\e brought the 
first volume of some new novel in their reticule, become 
extremely plaintive, and expatiate to Mr. Brown, or 
young Mr. O’Brien, who has been looking over them, on 
the blueness of the sky, and brightness of the water ; on 
which Mr. Brown or Mr. O’Brien, as the case may be, 
remarks in a low voice that he has been quite insensible 
of late to the beauties of nature — that his whole 
thoughts and wishes have centred in one object alone 

— whereupon the young lady looks up, and failing in her 
attempt to appear unconscious, looks down again ; and 
turns over the next leaf with great difficulty, in order 
to afford opportunity for a lengthened pressure of the 
hand. 

Telescopes, sandwiches, and glasses of brandy and 
water cold without, begin to be in great requisition ; 
and bashful men who have been looking down the hatch- 
way at the engine, find, to their great relief, a subject on 
which they can converse with one another — and a co- 
pious one too — Steam. 

“ Wonderful thing steam, sir.” “ Ah ! (a deep-drawn 
sigh) it is indeed, sir.” “ Great power, sir.” “ Immense 

— immense ! ” “ Great deal done by steam, sir.” “ Ah ! 
(another sigh at the immensity of the subject, and a 
knowing shake of the head) you may say that, sir.” 
“ Still in its infancy, they say, sir.” Novel remarks of 
this kind, are generally the commencement of a conver- 
sation which is prolonged until the conclusion of the trip, 
and, perhaps, lays the foundations of a speaking acquaint- 


ASTLEY’S. 


141 


ance between half a dozen gentlemen, who, having their 
families at Gravesend, take season-tickets for the boat, 
and dine on board regularly every afternoon. 


CHAPTER XI. 
astley’s. 

We never see any very large, staring, black Roman 
capitals, in a book, or shop-window, or placarded on a 
wall, without their immediately recalling to our mind an 
indistinct and confused recollection of the time when we 
were first initiated in the mysteries of the alphabet. We 
almost fancy we see the pin’s point following the letter, 
to impress its form more strongly on our bewildered 
imagination ; and wince involuntarily, as we remember 
the hard knuckles with which the reverend old lady who 
instilled into our mind the first principles of education 
for ninepence per week, or ten and sixpence per quarter, 
was wont to poke our juvenile head occasionally, by way 
of adjusting the confusion of ideas in which we were 
generally involved. The same kind of feeling pursues 
us in many other instances, but there is no place which 
recalls so strongly our recollections of childhood as 
Astley’s. It was not a “ Royal Amphitheatre ” in those 
days, nor had Ducrow arisen to shed the light of classic* 
taste and portable gas over the sawdust of the circus ; 
but the whole character of the place was the same, the 
pieces were the same, the clown’s jokes were the same, 
the riding-masters were equally grand, the comic per- 


142 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


formers equally witty, the tragedians equally hoarse, and 
the “ highly- trained chargers ” equally spirited. Astley’s 
Las altered for the better — we have changed for the 
worse. Our histrionic taste is gone, and with shame we 
confess, that we are far more delighted and amused with 
the audience, than with the pageantry we once so highly 
appreciated. 

We like to watch a regular Astley’s party in the 
Easter or Midsummer holidays — pa and ma, and nine 
or ten children, varying from five foot six to two foot 
eleven : from fourteen years of age to four. We had just 
taken our seat in one of the boxes, in the centre of the 
house, the other night, when the next was occupied by 
just such a party as we should have attempted to de- 
scribe, had we depicted our beau ideal of a group of 
Astley’s visitors. 

First of all, there came three little boys and a little 
girl, who in pursuance of pa’s directions, issued in a very 
audible voice from the box-door, occupied the front row , 
then two more little girls were ushered in by a young 
lady, evidently the governess. Then came three more 
little boys, dressed like the first, in blue jackets and trou- 
sers, with lay-down shirt-collars : then a child in a 
braided frock and high state of astonishment, with very 
large round eyes, open to their utmost width, was lifted 
over the seats — a process which occasioned a consider- 
able display of little pink legs — then came ma and pa, 
and then the eldest son, a boy of fourteen years old, who 
"was evidently trying to look as if he did not belong to 
the family. 

The first five minutes were occupied in taking the 
shawls off the little girls, and adjusting the bows which 
ornamented their hair ; then it was providentially dis- 


ASTLEY’S. 


143 


covered that one of the little boys was seated behind a 
pillar and could not see, so the governess was stuck be- 
hind the pillar, and the boy lifted into her place. Then 
pa drilled the boys, and directed the stowing away of 
their pocket-handkerchiefs ; and ma, having first nodded 
and winked to the governess to pull the girls’ frocks a 
little more off their shoulders, stood up to review the 
little troop — an inspection which appeared to terminate 
much to her own satisfaction, for she looked with a com- 
placent air at pa, who was standing up at the further 
end of the seat. Pa returned the glance, and blew his 
nose very emphatically ; and the poor governess peeped 
out from behind the pillar, and timidly tried to catch 
ma’s eye, with a look expressive of her high admiration 
of the whole family. Then two of the little boys who 
had been discussing the point whether Astley’s was more 
than twice as large as Drury Lane, agreed to refer it to 
“ George ” for his decision ; at which “ George,” who 
was no other than the young gentleman before noticed, 
waxed indignant, and remonstrated in no very gentle 
terms on the gross impropriety of having his name re- 
peated in so loud a voice at a public place, on which all 
the children laughed very heartily, and one of the little 
boys wound up by expressing his opinion, that “ George 
began to think himself quite a man now,” whereupon 
both pa and ma laughed too ; and George (who carried 
a dress cane and was cultivating whiskers) muttered that 
w William always was encouraged in his impertinence ; ” 
and assumed a look of profound contempt, which lasted 
the whole evening. 

The play began, and the interest of the little hoys 
knew no bounds. Pa was clearly interested too, although 
he very unsuccessfully endeavored to look as if he wasn t- 


144 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


As for ma, she was perfectly overcome by the drollery 
of the principal comedian, and laughed till every one of 
the immense bows on her ample cap trembled, at which 
the governess peeped out from behind the pillar again, 
and whenever she could catch ma’s eye, put her handker- 
chief to her mouth, and appeared, as in duty bound, to 
be in convulsions of laughter also. Then when the man 
in the splendid armor vowed to rescue the lady or perish 
in the attempt, the little boys applauded vehemently, 
especially one little fellow who was apparently on a visit 
to the family, and had been carrying on a child’s flirta- 
tion, the whole evening, with a small coquette of twelve 
years old, who looked like a model of her mamma on a 
reduced scale ; and who in common with the other little 
girls (who generally speaking have even more coquettish- 
ness about them than much older ones) looked very 
properly shocked, when the knight’s squire kissed the 
prince’s confidential chambermaid. 

When the scenes in the circle commenced, the children 
were more delighted than ever ; and the wish to see 
what was going forward, completely conquering pa’s dig- 
nity, he stood up in the box, and applauded as loudly as 
any of them. Between each feat of horsemanship, the 
governess leant across to ma, and retailed the clever 
remarks of the children on that which had preceded: 
and ma, in the openness of her heart, offered the govern- 
ess an acidulated drop, and the governess, gratified to 
be taken notice of, retired behind her pillar again with a 
brighter countenance : and the whole party seemed quite 
happy, except the exquisite in the back of the box, who, 
being too grand to take any interest in the children, and 
too insignificant to be taken notice of by anybody else 
occupied himself, from time to time, in rubbing the place 


ASTLEY’S. 


1 45 

where the whiskers ought to be, and was completely alone 
in his glory. 

We defy any one who has been to Astley’s two or 
three times, and is consequently capable of appreciating 
the perseverance with which precisely the same jokes are 
repeated night after night, and season after season, not to 
be amused with one part of the performances at least — 
we mean the scenes in the circle. For ourself, we know 
that when the hoop, composed of jets of gas, is let down, 
the curtain drawn up for the convenience of the half- 
price on their ejectment from the ring, the orange-peel 
cleared away, and the sawdust shaken, with mathemati- 
cal precision, into a complete circle, we feel as much en- 
livened as the youngest child present ; and actually join 
in the laugh which follows the clown’s shrill shout of 
“ Here we are ! ” just for old acquaintance sake. Nor can 
we quite divest ourself of our old feeling of reverence 
for the riding-master, who follows the clown with a long 
whip in his hand, and bows to the audience with graceful 
dignity. He is none of your second-rate riding-masters 
in nankeen dressing-gowns, with brown frogs, but the 
regular gentleman-attendant on the principal riders, who 
always wears a military uniform with a table-cloth inside 
the breast of the coat, in which costume he forcibly 
reminds- one of a fowl trussed for roasting. He is — but 
why should we attempt to describe that of which no de- 
scription can convey an adequate idea ? Everybody 
knows the man, and everybody remembers his polished 
boots, his graceful demeanor, stiff, as some misjudging 
persons have in their jealousy considered it, and the 
splendid head of black hair, parted high on the forehead, 
to impart to the countenance an appearance of deep 
thought and poetic melancholy. His soft and pleasing 

VOL. i, 10 


146 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


voice, too, is in perfect unison with his noble bearing, as 
he humors the clown by indulging in a little badinage : 
and the striking recollection of his own dignity, with 
which he exclaims, “ Now, sir, if you please, inquire for 
Miss Woolford, sir,” can never be forgotten. The grace- 
ful air, too, with which he introduces Miss Woolford into 
the ar ena, and after assisting her to the saddle, follows 
her fairy courser round the circle, can never fail to create 
a deep impression in the bosom of every female servant 
present. 

When Miss Woolford, and the horse, and the orches* 
tra, all stop together to take breath, he urbanely takes 
part in some such dialogue as the following (commenced 
by the clown) : “ I say, sir ! ” — “ Well, sir ? ” (it’s always 
conducted in the politest manner.) — “ Did you ever hap- 
pen to hear I was in the army, sir? ” — “ No, sir.” — “ Oh, 
yes, sir — I can go through my exercise, sir .” — “ Indeed, 
sir ! “ Shall I do it now, sir ? ” — “ If you please, sir ; 

come, sir — make haste ” (a cut with the long whip, and 
“ Ha’ done now — I don’t like it,” from the clown). 
Here the clown throws himself on the ground, and goes 
through a variety of gymnastic convulsions, doubling 
himself up, and untying himself again, and making him- 
self look very like a man in the most hopeless extreme 
of human agony, to the vociferous delight of the. gallery, 
until he is interrupted by a second cut from the long 
whip, and a request to see u what Miss Woolford’s stop- 
ping for ? ” On which, to the inexpressible mirth of the 
gallery, he exclaims, “ Now, Miss Woolford- what can I 
come for to go, for to fetch, for to bring, for to carry, for 
to do, for you, ma’am ? ” On the lady’s announcing with 
a sweet smile that she wants the two flags, they are with 
Sundry grimaces, procured and handed up ; the clown 


ASTLEY’S. 


147 


facetiously observing after the performance of the latter 
ceremony — “He, he, ho! I say, sir, Miss Woolford 
knows me; she smiled at me.” Another cut from the 
whip, a burst from the orchestra, a start from the horse, 
and round goes Miss Woolford again on her graceful per- 
formance, to the delight of every member of the audience, 
young or old. The next pause affords an opportunity 
for similar witticisms, the only additional fun being that 
of the clown making ludicrous grimaces at the riding- 
master every time his back is turned ; and finally quitting 
the circle by jumping over his head, having previously 
directed his attention another way. 

Did any of our readers ever notice the class of people, 
who hang about the stage-doors of our minor theatres 
in the daytime. You will rarely pass one of these en- 
trances without seeing a group of three or four men con- 
versing on the pavement, with an indescribable public- 
house-parlor swagger, and a kind of conscious air, peculiar 
to people of this description. They always seem to think 
they are exhibiting ; the lamps are ever before them. 
That young fellow in the faded brown coat, and very full 
light green trousers, pulls down the wristbands of his 
check shirt, as ostentatiously as if it were of the finest 
linen, and cocks the white hat of the summer-before-last 
as knowingly over his right eye, as if it were a purchase 
of yesterday. Look at the dirty white Berlin gloves, 
and the cheap silk-handkerchief stuck in the bosom of 
his threadbare coat. Is it possible to see him for an 
instant, and not Gome to the conclusion that he is the 
walking gentleman who wears a blue surtout, clean col- 
lar. and white trousers, for half an hour, and then shrinks 
into his worn-out scanty clothes : who has to boast night 
after night of his splendid fortune, with the painful con- 


148 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


sciousness of a pound a- week and his boots to find ; to 
talk of his father’s mansion in the country, with a dreary 
recollection of his own two-pair back, in the New Cut ; 
and to be envied and flattered as the favored lover of a 
rich heiress, remembering all the while that the ex- 
dancer at home is in the family way, and out of an en- 
gagement ? 

Next to him, perhaps, you will see a thin pale man, 
with a very long face, in a suit of shining black, thought- 
fully knocking that part of his boot which once had a 
heel, with an ash stick. He is the man who does the 
heavy business, such as prosy fathers, virtuous servants, 
curates, landlords, and so forth. 

By the way, talking of fathers, we should very much 
like to see some piece in which all the dramatis personae 
were orphans. Fathers are invariably great nuisances 
on the stage, and always have to give the hero or hero- 
ine a long explanation of what was done before the cur- 
tain rose, usually commencing with “ It is now nineteen 
years, my dear child, since your blessed mother (here 
the old villain’s voice falters) confided you to my charge. 
You were then an infant,” &c. &c. Or else they have to 
discover, all of a sudden, that somebody whom they have 
been in constant communication with, during three long 
acts, without the slightest suspicion, is their own child : 
in which case they exclaim, “ Ah ! what do I see ? This 
bracelet ! That smile ! These documents ! Those eyes ! 
Can I believe my senses ? — It must be ! — Yes — it is, it 
is my child ! ” — “ My father ! ” exclaims the child ; and 
they * fall into each other’s arms, and look over each 
other’s shoulders, and the audience give three rounds of 
applause. 

To return from this digression, we were about to say, 


ASTLEY’S. 


149 


that these are the sort of people whom you see talking, 
and attitudinizing, outside the stage-doors of our minor 
theatres. At Astley’s they are always more numerous 
than at any other place. There is generally a groom or 
two, sitting on the window-sill, and two or three dirty 
shabby-genteel men in checked neckerchiefs, and sallow 
linen, lounging about, and carrying, perhaps, under one 
arm, a pair of stage shoes badly wrapped up in a piece 
of old newspaper. Some years ago we used to stand 
looking, open-mouthed, at these men, with a feeling of 
mysterious curiosity, the very recollection of which pro- 
vokes a smile at the moment we are writing. We could 
not believe, that the beings of light and elegance, in milk- 
white tunics, salmon-colored legs, and blue scarfs, who 
flitted on sleek cream-colored horses before our eyes at 
night, with all the aid of lights, music, and artificial flow- 
ers, could be the pale, dissipated-looking creatures we 
beheld by day. 

We can hardly believe it now. Of the lower class of 
\ actors we have seen something, and it requires no great 
1 exercise of imagination to identify the walking gentle- 
man with the “ dirty swell,” the comic singer with the 
public-house chairman, or the leading tragedian with 
drunkenness and distress ; but these other men are mys- 
i terious beings, never seen out of the ring, never beheld 
| but in the costume of gods and sylphs. With the excep- 
tion of Ducrow, who can scarcely be classed among them, 
who ever knew a rider at Astley’s, or saw him but on 
horseback ? Can our friend in the military uniform, ever 
appear in threadbare attire, or descend to the compara- 
tively un-wadded costume of every-day life ? Impossi- 
i ble ! We cannot — we will not — believe it. 


150 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CHAPTER XII. 

GREENWICH FAIR. 

If the Parks be “the lungs of London,” we wonder 
what Greenwich Fair is — a periodical breaking out, we 
suppose, a sort of spring-rash : a three days’ fever, which 
cools the blood for six months afterwards, and at the 
expiration of which London is restored to its old habits 
of plodding industry, as suddenly and completely as if 
nothing had ever happened to disturb them. 

In our earlier days, we were a constant frequenter of 
Greenwich Fair, for years. We have proceeded to, and 
returned from it, in almost every description of vehicle. 
We cannot conscientiously deny the charge of having 
once made the passage in a spring-van, accompanied by 
thirteen gentlemen, fourteen ladies, an unlimited number 
of children, and a barrel of beer ; and we have a vague 
recollection of having in later days, found ourself the 
eighth outside, on the top of a hackney-coach, at some- 
thing past four o’clock in the morning, with a rather con- 
fused idea of our own name, or place of residence. We 
have grown older since then, and quiet, and steady : 
liking nothing better than to spend our Easter, and all 
our other holidays, in some quiet nook, with people of 
whom we shall never tire ; but we think we still remem- 
ber something of Greenwich Fair, and of those who 
resort to it. At all events we will try. 

The road to Greenwich during the whole of Easter 
Monday, is in a state of perpetual bustle and noise. 


GREENWICH FAIR. 


151 


Cabs, hackney-coaches, “shay ” carts, coal- wagons, stages, 
omnibuses, sociables, gigs, donkey-chaises — all crammed 
with people (for the question never is, what the horse 
can draw, but what the vehicle will hold), roll along at 
their utmost speed ; the dust flies in clouds, ginger-beer 
corks go off in volleys, the balcony of every public-house 
is crowded with people, smoking and drinking, half the 
private houses are turned into tea-shops, fiddles are in 
great request, every little fruit-shop displays its stall of 
gilt gingerbread and penny toys ; turnpike men are in 
despair ; horses won’t go on, and wheels will come off ; la- 
dies in “carawans” scream with fright at every fresh con- 
cussion, and their admirers find it necessary to sit remark- 
ably close to them, by way of encouragement ; servants 
of all-work, who are not allowed to have followers, and 
have got a holiday for the day, make the most of their 
time with the faithful admirer who waits for a stolen 
interview at the corner of the street every night, when 
they go to fetch the beer — apprentices grow sentimen 
tal, and straw-bonnet makers kind. Everybody is anx- 
ious to get on, and actuated by the common wish to be 
at the fair, or in the park, as soon as possible. 

Pedestrians linger in groups at the roadside, unable to 
resist the allurements of the stout proprietress of the 
u Jack-in-the-box, three shies a penny,” or the more 
splendid offers of the man with three thimbles and a pea 
on a little round board, who astonishes the bewildered 
crowd with some such address as, “ Here’s the sort o’ 
game to make you laugh seven years arter you’re dead, 
and turn ev’ry air on your ed gray with delight ! Three 
thimbles and vun little pea — with a vun, two, three, 
and a two, three, vun : catch him who can, look on, keep 
your eyes open, and niver say die ! niver mind the 


152 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


change, and the expense : all fair and above board : them 
as don’t play can’t vin, and luck attend the ryal sports- 
man ! Bet any gen’lm’n any sum of money, from harf- ; 
a-crown up to a suverin, as he doesn’t name the thimble 
as kivers the pea ! ” Here some greenhorn whispers his 
friend that he distinctly saw the pea roll under the middle 
thimble — an impression which is immediately confirmed 
by a gentleman in top-boots, who is standing by, and 
who, in a low tone, regrets his own inability to bet in 
consequence of having unfortunately left his purse at 
home, but strongly urges the stranger not to neglect such 
a golden opportunity. The “ plant ” is successful, the 
bet is made, the stranger of course loses ; and the gen- 
tleman with the thimble consoles him, as he pockets the 
money, with an assurance that it’s “ all the fortin of war ! 
this time I vin, next time you vin : niver mind the loss 
of two bob and a bender ! Do it up in a small parcel, 
and break out in a fresh place. Here’s the sort o’ game,” 
&c. — and the ^eloquent harangue, with such variations 
as the speaker’s exuberant fancy suggests, is again re- 
peated to the gaping crowd, reinforced by the accession 
of several new comers. 

The chief place of resort in the daytime, after the 
public-houses, is the park, in which the principal amuse- i 
ment is to drag young ladies up the steep hill which 
leads to the observatory, and then drag them down again, 
at the very top of their speed, greatly to the derange- 
ment of their curls and bonnet-caps, and much to the 
edification of lookers-on from below. “ Kiss in the 
Ring,” and “ Threading my Grandmother’s Needle,” too, 
are sports which receive their full share of patronage. 
Love-sick swains, under the influence of gin-and-water, 
and the tender passion, become violently affectionate ; 


GREENWICH FAIR. 


153 


and the fair objects of their regard enhance the value of 
stolen kisses, by a vast deal of struggling, and holding 
down of heads, and cries of “ Oh ! Ha’ done, then, 
George — Oh, do tickle him for me, Mary — - Well, I 
never ! ” and similar Lucretian ejaculations. Little old 
men and women, with a small basket under one arm, and 
a wine-glass, without a foot, in the other hand, tender “ a 
drop o’ the right sort” to the different groups ; and young 
ladies, who are persuaded to indulge in a drop of the 
aforesaid right sort, display a pleasing degree of reluct- 
ance to taste it, and cough afterwards with great pro- 
priety. 

The old pensioners, who, for the moderate charge of a 
penny, exhibit the mast-house, the Thames and shipping, 
the place where the men used to hang in chains, and 
other interesting sights, through a telescope, are asked 
questions about objects within the range of the glass, 
which it would puzzle a Solomon to answer ; and re- 
quested to find out particular houses in particular streets, 
which it would have been a task of some difficulty for 
Mr. Horner (not the young gentleman who ate mince- 
pies with his thumb, but the man of Colosseum notoriety) 
to discover. Here and there, where some three or four 
couple are sitting on the grass together, you will see a 
sun-burnt woman in a red cloak “ telling fortunes ” and 
prophesying husbands, which it requires no extraordinary 
observation to describe, for the originals are before her. 
Thereupon the lady concerned laughs and blushes, and 
ultimately buries her face in an imitation cambric hand- 
kerchief, and the gentleman described looks extremely 
foolish, and squeezes her hand, and fees the gypsy lib- 
erally; and the gypsy goes away, perfectly satisfied 
berself, and leaving those behind her perfectly satisfied 


£54 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


also : and the prophecy, like many othef prophecies of 
greater importance, fulfils itself in time. 

But it grows dark : the crowd has gradually dispersed, 
and only a few stragglers are left behind. The light in 
the direction of the church shows that the fair is illumi- 
nated ; and the distant noise proves it to be filling fast 
The spot, which half an hour ago was ringing with the 
shouts of boisterous mirth, is as calm and quiet as if 
nothing could ever disturb its serenity ; the fine old trees, 
the majestic building at their feet, with the noble river 
beyond, glistening in the moonlight, appear in all their 
beauty, and under their most favorable aspect ; the voices 
of the boys, singing their evening hymn, are borne gently 
on the air : and the humblest mechanic who has been lin- 
gering on the grass so pleasant to the feet that beat the 
same dull round from week to week in the paved streets 
of London, feels proud to think as he surveys the scene 
before him, that he belongs to the country which has 
selected such a spot as a retreat for its oldest and best 
defenders in the decline of their lives. 

Five minutes’ walking brings you to the fair ; a scene 
calculated to awaken very different feelings. The en- 
trance is occupied on either side by the venders of gin- 
gerbread and toys ; the stalls are gayly lighted up, the 
most attractive goods profusely disposed, and unbonneted 
young ladies, in their zeal for the interest of their em- 
ployers, seize you by the coat, and use all the blandish- 
ments of k< Do, dear ” — “ There’s a love ” — “ Don’t be ' 
cross, now,” &c. r to induce you to purchase half a pound 
of the real spice nuts, of which the majority of the regu- 
lar fair-goers carry a pound or two as a present supply, 
tied up in a cotton pocket-handkerchief. Occasionally 
you pass a deal table, on which are exposed pen’orths of 


GREENWICH FAIR. 


155 


pickled salmon (fennel included), in little white saucers; 
oysters, with shells as large as cheese-plates, and divers 
specimens of a species of snail ( wilks , we think they are 
called), floating in a somewhat bilious-looking green 
. liquid. Cigars, too, are in great demand ; gentlemen 
must smoke, of course, and here they are, two a penny, 
in a regular authentic cigar-box, with a lighted tallow 
candle in the centre. 

Imagine yourself in an extremely dense crowd, which 
swings you to and fro, and in and out, and every way but 
the right one ; add to this the screams of women, the 
shouts of boys, the clanging of gongs, the firing of pistols, 
the ringing of bells, the bellowings of speaking-trumpets, 
the squeaking of penny dittos, the noise of a dozen bands, 
with three drums in each, all playing different tunes at 
the same time, the hallooing of showmen, and an occa- 
sional roar from the wild-beast shows ; and you are in 
the very centre and heart of the fair. 

This immense booth, with the large stage in front, so 
brightly illuminated with variegated lamps, and pots of 
burning fat, is “ Richardson’s, , ’ where you have a melo- 
drama (with three murders and a ghost), a pantomime, a 
comic song, an overture, and some incidental music, all 
done in five-and-twenty minutes. 

The company are now promenading outside in all the 
dignity of wigs, spangles, red-ochre, and whitening. See 
with what a ferocious air the gentleman who personates 
the Mexican chief, paces up and down, and with what an 
eye of calm dignity the principal tragedian gazes on the 
' crowd below, or converses confidentially with the harle- 
: quin ! The four clowns, who are engaged in a mock 
; broadsword combat, may be all very well for the low- 
i minded holiday-makers ; but these are the people for tho 


156 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


reflective portion of the community. They look so noble 
in those Roman dresses, with their yellow legs and arms, 
long black curly heads, bushy eyebrows, and scowl ex- 
pressive of assassination, and vengeance, and everything 
else that is grand and solemn. Then, the ladies — were . 
there ever such innocent and awful-looking beings ; a3 
they walk up and down the platforms in twos and threes, 
with their arms round each other’s waists, or leaning for 
support on one of those majestic men ! Their spangled 
muslin dresses and blue satin shoes and sandals (a leetle 
the worse for wear) are the admiration of all beholders ; 
and the playful manner in which they check the advances 
of the clown, is perfectly enchanting. 

“ Just a-going to begin ! Pray come for’erd, come 
for’erd,” exclaims the man in the countryman’s dress, 
for the seventieth time : and people force their way up 
the steps in crowds. The band suddenly strikes up, the 
harlequin and columbine set the example, reels are 
formed in less than no time, the Roman heroes place 
their arms a-kimbo, and dance with considerable agility ; 
and the leading tragic actress, and the gentleman who 
enacts the “ swell ” in the pantomime, foot it to perfection 
“ All in to begin,” shouts the manager, when no more 
people can be induced to “come for’erd,” and away rush 
the leading members of the company to do the dreadful 
in the first piece. 

A change of performance takes place every day during 
the fair, but the story of the tragedy is always pretty 
much the same. There is a rightful heir, who loves a 
young lady, and is beloved by her ; and a wrongful heir, 
who loves her too, and isn’t beloved by her ; and the 
wrongful heir gets hold of the rightful heir, and throws 
him into a dungeon, just to kill him off when convenient, 


GREENWICH FAIR. 


157 


for which purpose he hires a couple of assassins — a good 
one and a bad one — who, the moment they are left 
alone, get up a little murder on their own account, the 
good one killing the bad one, and the bad one wounding 
the good one. Then the rightful heir is discovered in 
prison, carefully holding a long chain in his hands, and 
seated despondingly in a large arm-chair ; and the young 
lady comes in to two bars of soft music, and embraces the 
rightful heir; and then the wrongful heir comes in to 
two bars of quick music (technically called “ a hurry ”) 
and goes on in the most shocking manner, throwing the 
young lady about, as if she was nobody, and calling the 
rightful heir “ Ar-recreant — ar-wretch ! ” in a very loud 
voice, which answers the double purpose of displaying 
his passion, and preventing the sound being deadened by 
the sawdust. The interest becomes intense ; the wrongful 
heir draws his sword, and rushes on the rightful heir ; a 
blue smoke is seen, a gong is heard, and a tall white 
figure (who has been all this time behind the arm-chair, 
covered over with a table-cloth), slowly rises to the tune 
of “ Oft in the stilly night.” This is no other than the 
ghost of the rightful heirs father, who was killed by the 
wrongful heirs father, at sight of which the wrongful heir 
becomes apoplectic, and is literally struck “ all of a heap,” 
the stage not being large enough to admit of his falling 
down at full length. Then the good assassin staggers 
in, and says he was hired in conjunction with the bad 
assassin, by the wrongful heir, to kill the rightful heir ; 
and he’s killed a good many people in his time, but lie's 
very sorry for it, and won’t do so any more — a promise 
which he immediately redeems, by dying off-hand, with- 
out any nonsense about it. Then the rightful heir throws 
lown his chain ; and then two men, a sailor, and a young 


158 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


woman (the tenantry of the rightful heir) come in, and 
the ghost makes dumb motions to them, which they, by 
supernatural interference, understand — for no one else 
can ; and the ghost (who can’t do anything without blue 
fire) blesses the rightful heir and the young lady, by half 
suffocating them with smoke : and then a muffin-bell 
rings, and the curtain drops. 

The exhibitions next in popularity to these itinerant 
theatres are the travelling menageries, or, to speak more 
intelligibly, the “ Wild-beast shows,” where a military 
band in beef-eaters’ costume, with leopard-skin caps 
play incessantly ; and where large highly-colored repre- 
sentations of tigers tearing men’s heads open, and a lion 
being burnt with red-hot irons to induce him to drop 
his victim, are hung up outside, by way of attracting 
visitors. 

The principal officer at these places is generally a very 
tall, hoarse man, in a scarlet coat, with a cane in his hand, 
with which he occasionally raps the pictures we have just 
noticed, by way of illustrating his description — some- 
thing in this way. “ Here, here, here ; the lion, the 
lion (tap), exactly as he is represented on the canvas 
outside (three taps) : no waiting, remember ; no decep- 
tion. The fe-ro-cious lion (tap, tap) who bit off the gen- 
tleman’s head last Cambervel vOs a twelvemonth ago, and 
has killed on the awerage three keepers a-year ever since 
lie arrived at matoority. No extra charge on this account 
recollect ; the price of admission is only sixpence.” This 
•address never fails to produce a consideration sensation, 
and sixpences flow into the treasury with wonderful 
rapidity. 

The dwarfs are also objects of great curiosity, and as 
a dwarf, a giantess, a living skeleton, a wild Indian, “a 


GREENWICH FAIR. 


159 


young lady of singular beauty, with perfectly white hail 
and pink eyes,” and two or three other natural curiosities, 
are usually exhibited together for the small charge of a 
penny, they attract very numerous audiences. The best 
thing about a dwarf is, that he has always a little box, 
about two feet six inches high, into which, by long prac- 
tice, he can just manage to get, by doubling himself up 
like a boot-jack ; this box is painted outside like a six- 
roomed house, and as the crowd see him ring a bell, oi 
fire a pistol outV>f the first-floor window, they verily be- 
lieve that it is his ordinary town residence, divided like 
other mansions into drawing-rooms, dining-parlor, and 
bed-chambers. Shut up in this case, the unfortunate 
little object is brought out to delight the throng by hold- 
ing a facetious dialogue with the proprietor : in the' course 
of which, the dwarf (who is always particularly drunk) 
pledges himself to sing a comic song inside, and pays 
various compliments to the ladies, which induce them to 
“ come for’erd ” with great alacrity. As a giant is not so 
easily moved, a pair of indescribables of most capacious 
dimensions, and a huge shoe, are usually brought out, 
into which two or three stout men get all at once, to the 
enthusiastic delight of the crowd, who are quite satisfied 
with the solemn assurance that these habiliments form 
part of the giant’s every-day costume. 

The grandest and most numerously frequented booth 
in the whole fair, however, is “The Crown and Anchor” 
— a temporary ball-room — we forget how many hun- 
dred feet long, the price of admission to which is one 
shilling. Immediately on your right hand as you enter, 
after paying your money, is a refreshment place, at which 
cold beef, roast and boiled, French rolls, stout, wine, 
tongue, ham, even fowls, if we recollect right, are dis 


160 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


played in tempting array. There is a raised orchestra, 
and the place is boarded all the way down, in patches, 
just wide enough for a country-dance. 

There is no master of the ceremonies in this artificial 
Eden — all is primitive, unreserved, and unstudied, 
The dust is blinding, the heat insupportable, the com- 
pany somewhat noisy, and in the highest spirits possible . 
the ladies, in the height of their innocent animation, 
dancing in the gentlemen’s hats, and the gentlemen 
promenading “ the gay and festive scene ” in the ladies’ 
bonnets, or with the more expensive ornaments of false 
noses, and low-crowned, tinder-box looking hats : play- 
ing children’s drums, and accompanied by ladies on the 
penny trumpet. 

The noise of these various instruments, the orchestra, 
the shouting, the “ scratchers,” and the dancing, is per- 
fectly bewildering. The dancing itself, beggars descrip- 
tion — every figure lasts about an hour, and the ladies 
bounce up and down the middle, with a degree of spirit 
which is quite indescribable. As to the gentlemen, they 
stamp their feet against the ground, every time “ hands 
four round ” begins, go down the middle and up again, 
with cigars in their mouths, and silk handkerchiefs in 
their hands, and whirl their partners round, nothing loth, 
scrambling and falling, and embracing, and knocking up 
against the other couples, until they are fairly tired out, 
and can move no longer. The same scene is repeated 
again and again (slightly varied by an occasional “ row ”) 
until a late hour at night : and a great many clerks 
and ’prentices find themselves next morning with aching 
heads, empty pockets, damaged hats, and a very imper- 
fect recollection of how it was, they did not get home. 


PRIVATE THEATRES. 


161 


CHAPTER XIII. 

PRIVATE THEATRES. 

“Richard the Third. — Duke of Glo’ster, 21 ; 
Earl of Richmond, 1Z. ; Duke of Buckingham, 15s. ; 
Catesby, 12s.; Tressell, 10s. 6gZ. ; Lord Stanley, 
5s.; Lord Mayor of London, 2s. 6cZ.” 

Such are the written placards wafered up in the gen- 
tlemen’s dressing-room, or the green-room (where there 
is any), at a private theatre ; and such are the sums 
extracted from the shop-till, or overcharged in the office 
expenditure, by the donkeys who are prevailed upon to 
pay for permission to exhibit their lamentable ignorance 
and booby ism on the stage of a private theatre. This 
they do, in proportion to the scope afforded by the char- 
acter for the display of their imbecility. For instance, 
the Duke of Glo’ster is well worth two pounds, because 
he has it all to himself ; he must wear a real sword, and 
what is better still, he must draw it, several times in the 
course of the piece. The soliloquies alone are well 
worth fifteen shillings ; then there is the stabbing King 
Henry —^decidedly cheap at three-and-sixpence, that’s 
eighteen-and-sixpence ; bullying the coffin-bearers — say 
eighteen-pence, though it’s worth much more — that’s a 
pound. Then the love scene with Lady Ann, and the 
bustle of the fourth act, can’t be dear at ten shillings 
more that’s only one pound ten, including the “ off 
frith his head ! ” — which is sure to bring down the 
applause, and it is very easy to do — “ Orf with his ed ” 

VOL. i. 11 


162 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


(very quick and loud ; — then slow and sneeringly) — 
“ So much for Bu-u-u-uckingham ! ” Lay the emphasis 
on the “ uck ; ” get yourself gradually into a corner, and 
work with your right hand, while you’re saying it, as if 
you were feeling your way, and it’s sure to do. The 
tent scene is confessedly worth half a sovereign, and so 
you have the fightin’ gratis, and everybody knows what 
an effect may be produced by a good combat. One — 
two — three — four — over ; then, one — two — three 

— four — under ; then thrust ; then dodge and slide 
about ; then fall down on one knee ; then fight upon it : 
and then get up again and stagger. You may keep on 
doing this, as long as it seems to take — say ten minutes 

— and then fall down (backwards, if you can manage it 

without hurting yourself), and die game: nothing like 
it for producing an effect. They always do it at Astley’s 
and Sadler’s Wells, and if they don’t know how to do 
this sort of thing, who in the world does ? A small 
child, or a female in white, increases the interest of a 
combat materially — indeed, we are not aware that a 
regular legitimate terrific broadsword combat could be 
done without ; but it would be rather difficult, and some- 
what unusual, to introduce this effect in the last scene 
of Richard the Third, so the only thing to be done, is, 
just to make the best of a bad bargain, and be as long 
as possible fighting it out. # 

The principal patrons of private theatres are dirty 
boys, low copying-clerks in attorneys’ offices, capacious- 
Leaded youths from city counting-houses, Jews whose 
business, as lenders of fancy dresses, is a sure passport 
to the amateur stage, shop-boys who now and then mis- 
take their master’s money for their own ; and a choice 
miscellany of idle vagabonds. The proprietor of a pri* 


PRIVATE THEATRES. 


163 


vate theatre may be an ex-scene-painter, a low coffee- 
house-keeper, a disappointed eighth-rate actor, a retired 
smuggler, or an uncertificated bankrupt. The theatre 
itself may be in Catherine Street, Strand, the purlieus 
of the city, the neighborhood of Gray’s Inn Lane, or the 
vicinity of Sadler’s Wells; or it may, perhaps, form the 
r hief nuisance of some shabby street, on the Surrey side 
of Waterloo Bridge. 

The lady performers pay nothing for their characters, 
and it is needless to add, are usually selected from one 
class of society; the audiences are necessarily of much 
the same character as the performers, who receive, in 
return for their contributions to the management, tickets 
to the amount of the money they pay. 

All the minor theatres in London, especially the lowest, 
constitute the centre of a little stage-struck neighborhood. 
Each of them has an audience exclusively its own ; and 
at any you will see dropping into the pit at half-price, or 
swaggering into the back of a box, if the price of admis- 
sion be a reduced one, divers boys of from fifteen to 
twfenty-one years of age, who throw back their coat and 
turn up their wristbands, after the portraits of Count 
D’Orsay, hum tunes and whistle when the curtain is 
down, by way of persuading the people near them, that 
they are not at all anxious to have it up again, and speak 
familiarly of the inferior performers as Bill Such-a-one, 
and Ned So-and-so, or tell each other how a new piece 
called The Unknown Bandit of the Invisible Cavern , is 
in rehearsal ; how Mister Palmer is to play The Un- 
known Bandit ; how Charley Scarton is to take the part 
sf an English sailor, and fight a broadsword combat with 
six unknown bandits at one and the same time (one the- 
atrical 3ailor is always equal to half a dozen men at 


164 SKETCHES BY BOZ. 

least) ; how Mr. Palmer and Charley Scarton are to go 
through a double hornpipe in fetters in the second act ; 
how the interior of the invisible cavern is to occupy the 
whole extent of the stage ; and other town-surprising 
theatrical announcements. These gentlemen are the 
amateurs — the Richards , Shyloclcs , Beverleys, and Ot hel- 
los — the Young Dorntons , Rovers, Captain Absolutes , 
and Charles Surfaces — of a private theatre* 

See them at the neighboring public-house or the the- 
atrical coffee-shop ! They are the kings of the place, 
supposing no real performers to be present ; and roll 
about, hats on one side, and arms a-kimbo, as if they 
had actually come into possession of eighteen shillings 
a week, and a share of a ticket night. If one of them 
does but know an Astley’s supernumerary he is a happy 
fellow. The mingled air of envy and admiration with 
which his companions will regard him, as he converses 
familiarly w r ith some mouldy-looking man in a fancy 
neckerchief, whose partially corked eyebrows, and half- 
rouged face, testify to the fact of his having just left the 
stage or the circle, sufficiently shows in what high admi- 
ration these public characters are held. 

With the double view of guarding against the dis- ; 
covery of friends or employers, and enhancing the inter- 
est of an assumed character, by attaching a high-sound- 
ing name to its representative, these geniuses assume 
fictitious names, which are not the least amusing part of 
the play-bill of a private theatre. Belville, Melville, 
Treville, Berkeley, Randolph, Byron, St. Clair, and so 
forth, are among the humblest ; and the less imposing 
titles of Jenkins, Walker, Thomson, Barker, Solomons, 
&c., are completely laid aside. There is something im- 
posing in this, and it is an excellent apology for shabbi* 


PRIVATE THEATRES. 


165 


ness into the bargain. A shrunken, faded coat, a de- 
cayed hat, a patched and soiled pair of trousers — nay 
even a very dirty shirt (and none of these appearances 
are very uncommon among the members of the corps 
dramatique ) , may be worn for the purpose of disguise, 
and to prevent the remotest chance of recognition. Then 
it prevents any troublesome inquiries or explanations 
about employment and pursuits ; everybody is a gentle- 
man at large for the occasion, and there are none of those 
unpleasant and unnecessary distinctions to which even 
genius must occasionally succumb elsewhere. As to the 
ladies (God bless them), they are quite above any formal 
absurdities ; the' mere circumstance of your being behind 
the scenes is a sufficient introduction to their society — 
for of course they know that none but strictly respec- 
table persons would be admitted into that close fellow- 
ship with them which acting engenders. They place 
implicit reliance on the manager, no doubt ; and as to the 
manager, he is all affability when he knows you well, — 
or, in other words, when he has pocketed your money 
once, and entertains confident hopes of doing so again. 

A quarter before eight — there will be a full house to- 
night — six parties in the boxes, already; four little boys 
and a woman in the pit ; and two fiddles and a flute in 
the orchestra ; who have got through five overtures since 
seven .o’clock (the hour fixed for the commencement of 
tihe performances), and have just begun the sixth. There 
wifi be plenty of it, though, when it does begin, for there 
its enough in the bill to last six hours at least. 

That gentleman in the white hat and checked shirt, 
brown coat and brass buttons, lounging behind the stage- 
box on the O. P. side, is Mr. Horatio St. Julian, alias 
Jem Larkins. His line is genteel comedy — his father’s. 


166 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


coal and potato. He does Alfred Highflier in the last 
piece, and very well he’ll do it — at the price. The 
party of gentlemen in the opposite box, to whom he has 
just nodded, are friends and supporters of Mr. Beverley 
(otherwise Loggins), the Macbeth of the night. You 
observe their attempts to appear easy and gentlemanly, 
each member of the party, with his feet cocked upon the 
cushion in front of the box ! They let them do these 
things here, upon the same humane principle which per- 
mits poor people’s children to knock double knocks at 
the door of an empty house — because they can’t do it 
anywhere else. The two stout men in the centre box, 
with an opera-glass ostentatiously placed before them, 
are friends of the proprietor — opulent country mana- 
gers, as he confidentially informs every individual among 
the crew behind the curtain — opulent country managers 
looking out for recruits ; a representation which Mr. 
Nathan, the dresser, who is in the manager’s interest, and 
has just arrived with the costumes, offers to confirm upon 
oath if required — corroborative evidence, however, is 
quite unnecessary, for the gulls believe it at once. 

The stout Jewess, who has just, entered, is the mother 
of the pale bony little girl, with the necklace of blue 
glass beads sitting by her ; she is being brought up to 
“ the profession.” Pantomime is to be her line, and she 
is coming out to-night, in a hornpipe after the tragedy. 
The short thin man beside Mr. St. Julian, whose white 
face is so deeply seared with the small-pox, and whose 
dirty shirt-front is inlaid with open-work, and embossed 
with coral studs like lady-birds, is the low comedian and 
comic singer of the establishment. The remainder of the 
audience — a tolerably numerous one by this time — are 
a motley group of dupes and blackguards. 


PRIVATE THEATRES. 


167 


The footlights have just made their appearance : the 
wicks of the six little oil lamps round the only tier of 
boxes are being turned up, and the additional light thus 
afforded serves to show the presence of dirt, and absence 
of paint, which forms a prominent feature in the au- 
dience part of the house. As these preparations, how- 
ever, announce the speedy commencement of the play 
lei us take a peep “ behind,” previous to the ring 
ing up. 

The little narrow passages beneath the stage are 
neither especially clean nor too brilliantly lighted ; and 
the absence of any flooring, together with the damp mil- 
dewy smell which pervades the place, does not conduce 
in any great degree to their comfortable appearance 
Don’t fall over this plate-basket — it’s one of the “prop- 
erties” — the caldron for the witches’ cave ; and the three 
uncouth-looking figures, with broken clothes-props in their 
hands, who are drinking gin and water out of a pint pot, 
are the weird sisters. This miserable room, lighted by 
candles in sconces placed at lengthened intervals round 
the wall, is the dressing-room, common to the gentlemen 
performers, and the square hole in the ceiling is the trap- 
door of the stage above. You will observe that the ceil- 
ing is ornamented with the beams that support the boards, 
and tastefully hung with cobwebs. 

The characters in the tragedy are all dressed, and their 
own clothes are scattered in hurried confusion over the 
wooden dresser which surrounds the room. That snuff- 
shop-looking figure, in front of the glass, is Banquo : and 
the young lady with the liberal display of legs, who is 
kindly painting his face with a hare’s foot, is dressed for 
Fieance . The large woman, who is consulting the stage 
directions in Cumberland’s edition of Macbeth, is the 


168 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Lady Macbeth of the night ; she is always selected to 
play the part, because she is tall and stout, and looks a 
little like Mrs. Siddons — at a considerable distance. 
That stupid-looking milksop, with light hair and bow 
legs — a kind of man whom you can warrant town-made 
— is fresh caught ; he plays Malcolm to-night, just to 
accustom himself to an audience. He will get on better 
by degrees ; he will play Othello in a month, and in a 
month more, will very probably be apprehended on a 
charge of embezzlement. The black-eyed female with 
whom he is talking so earnestly, is dressed for the 66 gen- 
tlewoman.” It is her first appearance too — in that char- 
acter. The boy of fourteen, who is having his eyebrows 
smeared with soap and whitening, is Duncan , King of 
Scotland ; and the two dirty men with the corked coun- 
tenances, in very old green tunics, and dirty drab boots, 
are the “ army.” 

“ Look sharp below there, gents,” exclaims the dresser, 
a red-headed and red- whiskered Jew, calling through the 
trap, “ they’re a-going to ring up. The flute says he’ll 
be blowed if he plays any more, and they’re getting pre- 
cious noisy in front.” A general rush immediately takes 
place to the half dozen little steep steps leading to the 
stage, and the heterogeneous group are soon assembled 
at the side scenes, in breathless anxiety and motley con- 
fusion. 

“ Now,” cries the manager, consulting the written list 
which hangs behind the first P. S. wing, “ Scene 1, open 
country — lamps down — thunder and lightning — all 
ready, White ? ” [This is addressed to one of the army.] 
' 4 All ready.” — “ Very well. Scene 2, front chamber. Is 
the front chamber down ? ” — “ Yes.” — “ Very well.” — 
x Jones ” [to the other army who is up m the flies]. 


YAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY. 


168 


u Hallo ! ” — “ Wind up the open country when we ring 
up.” — “ I’ll take care.” — “ Scene 3, back perspective 
with practical bridge. Bridge ready, White ? Got the 
tressels there ? ” — “ All right.” 

“ Very well. Clear the stage,” cries the manager, 
hastily packing every member of the company into the 
little space there is between the wings and the wall, 
and one wing and another. “ Places, places. Now 
then, Witches — Duncan — Malcolm — bleeding officer 
— where’s the bleeding officer ? ” — “ Here ! ” replies the 
officer, who has been rose-pinking for the character 
“ Get ready, then ; now, White, ring the second music- 
bell.” The actors who are to be discovered, are hastily 
arranged, and the actors who are not to be discovered 
place themselves, in their anxiety to peep at the house, 
just where the whole audience can see them. The bell 
rings, and the orchestra, in acknowledgment of the call, 
play three distinct chords. The bell rings — - the tragedy 
(!) opens — and our description closes. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

YAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY. 

There was a time when if a man ventured to wonder 
how Vauxhall Gardens would look by day, he was hailed 
with a shout of derision at the absurdity of the idea. 
Vauxhall by daylight ! A porter-pot without porter, the 
House of Commons without the Speaker, a gas-lamp with- 
out the gas — pooh, nonsense, the thing was not to be 


170 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


thought of. It was rumored, too, in those times, that Vaux- 
hall Gardens by day, were the scene of secret and hidden 
experiments ; that there, carvers were exercised in the 
mystic art of cutting a moderate-sized ham into slices 
thin enough to pave the whole of the grounds ; that be- 
neath the shade of the tall trees, studious men were con- 
stantly engaged in chemical experiments, with the view 
of discovering how much water a bowl of negus could 
possibly bear ; and that in some retired nooks, appropri- 
ated to the study of ornithology, other sage and learned 
men were, by a process known only to themselves, inces- 
santly employed in reducing fowls to a mere combination 
of skin and bone. 

Vague rumors of this kind, together with many others 
of a similar nature, cast over Yauxhall Gardens an air 
of deep mystery ; and as there is a great deal in the mys- 
terious, there is no doubt that to a good many people, at 
all events, the pleasure they afforded was not a little 
enhanced by this very circumstance. 

Of this class of people we confess to having made one. 
We loved to wander among these illuminated groves, 
thinking of the patient and laborious researches which 
had been carried on there during the day, and witnessing 
their results in the suppers which were served up beneath 
the light of lamps and to the sound of music, at night. 
The temples and saloons and cosmoramas and fountains 
glittered and sparkled before our eyes ; the beauty of the 
iady singers and the elegant deportment of the gentle- 
men, captivated our hearts ; a few hundred thousand of 
additional lamps dazzled our senses ; a bowl or two 
of reeking punch bewildered our brains ; and we were 
nappy. 

In an evil hour, the proprietors of Yauxhall Gardens 


VAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY. 


171 


took to opening them by day. We regretted this, as 
rudely and harshly disturbing that veil of mystery which 
had hung about the property for many years, and which 
none but the noonday sun, and the late Mr. Simpson, had 
ever penetrated. We shrunk from goir*r; at this mo- 
ment we scarcely know why. Perhaps a morbid con- 
sciousness of approaching disappointment — perhaps a 
fatal presentiment — perhaps the weather ; whatever it 
was, we did not go until the second or third announce- 
ment of a race between two balloons tempted us, and we 
went. 

We paid our shilling at the gate, and then we saw for 
the first time, that the entrance, if there had ever been 
any magic about it at all, was now decidedly disenchanted, 
being, in fact, nothing more nor less than a combination 
of very roughly-painted boards and sawdust. We 
glanced at the orchestra and supper-room as we hurried 
past — we just recognized them, and that was all.. We 
bent our steps to the firework -ground ; there, at least, we 
should not be disappointed. We reached it, and stood 
rooted to the spot with mortification and astonishment. 
That the Moorish tower — that wooden shed with a door 
in the centre, and daubs of crimson and yellow all round, 
like a gigantic watch-case ! That the place where night 
after nisjit we had beheld the undaunted Mr. Blackmore 
make his terrific ascent, surrounded by flames of fire, 
and peals of artillery, and where the white garments of 
Madame Somebody (we forget even her name now), who 
nobly devoted her life to the manufacture of fireworks, 
had so often been seen fluttering in the wind, as she 
called up a red, blue, or party-colored light to illumine 
her temple ! That the — but at this moment the bell 
rung ; the people scampered away, pell-mell, to the spot 


172 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


from whence the sound proceeded ; and we, from the 
mere force of habit, found ourself running among the 
first, as if for very life. 

It was for the concert in the orchestra. A small party 
of dismal men in cocked hats were “ executing ’’ the over- 
ture to Tancredi , and a numerous assemblage of ladies 
and gentlemen, with their families, had rushed from their 
half-emptied stout mugs in the supper boxes, and crowded 
to the spot. Intense was the low murmur of admiration 
when a particularly small gentleman, in a dress coat, led 
on a particularly tall lady in a blue sarcenet pelisse and 
bonnet of the same, ornamented with large white feathers, 
and forthwith commenced a plaintive duet. 

We knew the small gentleman well ; we had seen a 
lithographed semblance of him, on many a piece of 
music, with his mouth wide open as if in the act of sing- 
ing ; a wine-glass in his hand ; and a table with two decan- 
ters aud four pine-apples on it in the background. The 
tall lady, too, we had gazed on, lost in raptures of admi- 
ration, many and many a time — how different people do 
look by daylight, and without punch, to be sure ! It was 
a beautiful duet : first the small gentleman asked a ques- 
tion, and then the tail lady answered it ; then the small 
gentleman and the tall lady sang together most melo- 
diously ; then the small gentleman went through a little 
piece of vehemence by himself, and got very tenor indeed, 
in the excitement of his feelings, to which the tall lady 
responded in a similar manner ; then the small gentleman 
had a shake or two, after which the tall lady had the 
same, and then they both merged imperceptibly into the 
original air : and the band wound themselves up to a 
pitch of fury, and the small gentleman handed the tall 
lady out, and the applause was rapturous. 


VAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY. 


173 


The comic singer, however, was the especial favorite ; 
we really thought that a gentleman, with his dinner in a 
pocket-handkerchief, who stood near us, would have 
fainted with excess of joy. A marvellously facetious 
gentleman that comic singer is ; his distinguishing char- 
acteristics are, a wig approaching to the flaxen, and an 
aged countenance, and he bears the name of one of the 
English counties, if we recollect right. He sang a very 
good song about the seven ages, the first half-hour of 
which afforded the assembly the purest delight ; of the 
rest we can make no report, as we did not stay to hear 
any more. 

We walked about, and met with a disappointment at 
every turn ; our favorite views were mere patches of 
paint ; the fountain that had sparkled so showily by 
lamp-light, presented very much the appearance of a 
water-pipe that had burst ; all the ornaments were dingy, 
and all the walks gloomy. There was a spectral attempt 
at rope-dancing in the little open theatre. The sun shone 
upon the spangled dresses of the performers, and their 
evolutions were about as inspirating and appropriate as 
a country-dance in a family-vault. So we retraced our 
steps to the firework-ground, and mingled with the little 
crowd of people who were contemplating Mr. Green. 

Some half-dozen men were restraining the impetuosity 
of one of the balloons, which was completely filled, and 
had the car already attached ; and as rumors had gone 
abroad that a Lord was “ going up,” the crowd were more 
than usually anxious and talkative. There was one little 
man in faded black, with a dirty face and a rusty black 
neckerchief with a red border, tied in a narrow wisp 
round his neck, who entered into conversation with every- 


174 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


body, and had something to say upon every remark that 
was made within his hearing. He was standing with his 
arms folded, staring up at the balloon, and every now and 
then vented his feelings of reverence for the aeronaut, 
by saying, as he looked round to catch somebody’s eye, 
“ He’s a rum ’un is Green ; think o’ this here being 
up’ards of his two hundredth ascent ; ecod the man as is 
ekal to Green never had the toothache yet, nor won’t 
have within this hundred year, and that's all about it. 
When you meets with real talent, and native, too, encour- 
age it, that’s what I say ; ” and when he had delivered 
himself to this effect, he would fold his arms with more 
determination than ever, and stare at the balloon with a 
sort of admiring defiance of any other man alive, beyond 
himself and Green, that impressed the crowd with the 
opinion that he was an oracle. 

“ Ah, you’re very right, sir,” said another gentleman, 
with his wife, and children, and mother, and wife’s sister, 
and a host of female friends, in all the gentility of white 
pocket-handkerchiefs, frills, and spencers, “ Mr. Green is 
a steady hand, sir, and there’s no fear about him.” 

“Fear!” said the little man; “isn’t it a lovely thing 
to see him and his wife a-going up in one balloon, and 
his own son and his wife a-jostling up against them in 
another, and all of them going twenty or thirty mile in 
three hours or so, and then coming back in pochayses ? 
I don’t know where this here science is to stop, mind 
you ; that’s what bothers me.” 

Here there was a considerable talking among the 
females in the spencers. 

“ Wliat’s the ladies a-laughing at, sir ? ” inquired the 
little man, condescendingly. 


VAUXHALL GARDENS BY DAY. 


175 


“ It’s only my sister Mary,” said one of the girls, “ as 
says she hopes his lordship won’t be frightened when 
he’s in the car, and want to come out again.” 

“ Make yourself easy about that there, my dear,” re- 
plied the little man. “ If he was so much as to move a 
inch without leave, Green would jist fetch him a crack 
over the head with the telescope, as would send him into 
the bottom of the basket in no time, and stun him till 
they come down again.” 

“ Would he though ? ” inquired the other man. 

“ Yes, would he,” replied the little one, “ and think 
nothing of it, neither, if he was the king himself. Green’s 
presence of mind is wonderful.” 

Just at this moment all eyes were directed to the prep 
arations which were being made for starting. The car 
was attached to the second balloon, the two were brought 
pretty close together, and a military band commenced 
playing, with a zeal and fervor which would render the 
most timid man in existence but too happy to accept any 
means of quitting that particular spot of earth on which 
they were stationed. Then Mr. Green, sen., and his 
noble companion entered one car, and Mr. Green, jun., 
and his companion the other ; and then the balloons went 
up, and the aerial travellers stood up, and the crowd out- 
side roared with delight, and the two gentlemen who had 
never ascended before, tried to wave their Hags, as if they 
were not nervous, but held on very fast all the while ; 
and the balloons were wafted gently away, our little 
friend solemnly protesting, long after they were reduced 
to mere specks in the air, that he could still distinguish 
the white hat of Mr. Green. The gardens disgorged 
their multitudes, boys ran up and down screaming “ bal- 
loon;” and in all the crowded thoroughfares people 


176 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


rushed out of their shops into the middle of the road 3 
and having stared up in the air at two little black objects 
till they almost dislocated their necks, walked slowly in 
again, perfectly satisfied. 

The next day there was a grand account of the ascent 
in the morning papers, and the public were informed how 
it was the finest day but four in Mr. Green’s remem- 
brance ; how they retained sight of the earth till they 
lost it behind the clouds ; and how the reflection of the 
balloon on the undulating masses of vapor was gorgeously 
picturesque ; together w r ith a little science about the 
refraction of the sun’s rays, and some mysterious hints 
respecting atmospheric heat and eddying currents of air. 

There was also an interesting account how a man in a 
boat was distinctly heard by Mr. Green, jun., to exclaim, 
“ My eye ! ” which Mr. Green, jun., attributed to his 
voice rising to the balloon, and the sound being thrown 
back from its surface into the car ; and the whole con- 
cluded with a slight allusion to another ascent next 
Wednesday, all of which was very instructive and very 
amusing, as our readers will see if they look to the pa- 
pers. If we have forgotten to mention the date, they 
have only to wait till next summer, and take the account 
of the first ascent, and it will answer the purpose equally 
well. 


CHAPTER XV. 

EARLY COACnES. 


We have often wondered how many months’ incessant 
travelling in a post-chaise, it would take to kill a man ; 


EARLY COACHES. 


177 


and wondering by analogy, we should very much like to 
know how many months of constant travelling in a suc- 
cession of early coaches, an unfortunate mortal could 
endure. Breaking a man alive upon the wheel, would 
be nothing to breaking his rest, his peace, his heart — 
everything but his fast — upon four; and the punishment 
of Ixion (the only practical person, by the by, who has 
discovered the secret of the perpetual motion) would 
sink into utter insignificance before the one we have sug- 
gested. If we had been a powerful churchman in those 
good times when blood was shed as freely as water and 
men were mowed down like grass, in the sacred cause of 
religion, we would have lain by very quietly till we got 
hold of some especially obstinate miscreant, who posi- 
tively refused to be converted to our faith, and then we 
would have booked him for an inside place in a small 
coach, which travelled day and night : and securing the 
remainder of the places for stout men with a slight ten- 
dency to coughing and spitting, we would have started 
him forth on his last travels : leaving him mercilessly to 
all the tortures which the waiters, landlords, coachmen, 
guards, boots, chambermaids, and other familiars on his 
line of road, might think proper to inflict. 

Who has not experienced the miseries inevitably con- 
sequent upon a summons to undertake a hasty journey ? 
You receive an intimation from your place of business — 
wherever that may be, or whatever you may be — that 
it will be necessary to leave town without delay. You 
and your family are forthwith thrown into a state of 
tremendous excitement ; an express is immediately de- 
spatched to the washerwoman’s ; everybody is in a 
bustle ; and you, yourself, with a feeling of dignity which 
you cannot altogether conceal, sally forth to the booking- 

VOL. i. 12 

I 


178 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


office to secure your place. Here a painful conscious- 
ness of your own unimportance first rushes on your mind 
— the people are as cool and collected as if nobody were 
going out of town, or as if a journey of a hundred odd 
miles were a mere nothing. You enter a mouldy-looking 
room, ornamented with large posting-bills ; the greater 
part of the place enclosed behind a huge lumbering rough 
counter, and fitted up with recesses that look like the 
dens of the smaller animals in a travelling menagerie, 
without the bars. Some half-dozen people are “ book- 
ing 99 brown-paper parcels, which one of the clerks flings 
into the aforesaid recesses with an air of recklessness 
which you, remembering the new carpet-bag you bought 
in the morning, feel considerably annoyed at ; porters look- 
ing like so many Atlases, keep rushing in and out, with 
large packages on their shoulders ; and while you are 
waiting to make the necessary inquiries, you wonder 
what on earth the booking-office clerks can have been 
before they were booking-office clerks ; one of them with 
his pen behind his ear, and his hands behind him, is 
standing in front of the fire, like a full-length portrait of 
Napoleon ; the other with his hat half off his head, en- 
ters the passengers’ names in the books with a coolness 
which is inexpressibly provoking ; and the villain whis- 
tles — actually whistles — while a man asks him what 
the fare is outside — all the way to Holyhead ! — in 
frosty weather too ? They are clearly an isolated race, 
evidently possessing no sympathies or feelings in common 
with the rest of mankind. Your turn comes at last, and 
having paid the fare, you tremblingly inquire — “ What 
time will it be necessary for me to be here in the morn- 
ing ? ” — “ Six o’clock,” replies the whistler, carelessly 
pitching the sovereign you have just parted with, into a 


EARLY COACHES. 


179 


wooden bowl on the desk. “ Rather before than arter,” 
adds the man with the semi-roasted unmentionables, with 
just as much ease and complacency as if the whole world 
got out of bed at five. You turn into the street, ruminat- 
ing as you bend your steps homewards on the extent to 
which men become hardened in cruelty, by custom. 

If there be one thing in existence more miserable than 
another, it most unquestionably is the being compelled to 
rise by candle-light. If you ever doubted the fact, you 
are painfully convinced of your error, on the morning of 
your departure. You left strict orders, overnight, to be 
called at half-past four, and you have done nothing all 
night but doze for five minutes at a time, and start up 
suddenly from a terrific dream of a large church-clock 
with the small hand running round, with astonishing 
rapidity, to every figure on the dial-plate. At last, 
completely exhausted, you fall gradually into a refresh- 
ing sleep — your thoughts grow confused — the stage- 
coaches, which have been “ going off ” before your eyes 
all night, become less and less distinct, until they go off 
altogether ; one moment you are driving with all the skill 
and smartness of an experienced whip — the next you 
are exhibiting, a la Ducrow, on the off leader ; anon 
you are closely muffled up, inside, and have just recog- 
nized in the person of the guard an old schoolfellow, 
whose funeral, even in your dream, you remember to 
have attended eighteen years ago. At last you fall into 
a state of complete oblivion, from which you are aroused, 
as if into a new state of existence, by a singular illusion. 
You are apprenticed to a trunk-maker ; how, or why, or 
when, or wherefore, you don’t take the trouble to inquire ; 
but there you are, pasting the lining in the lid of a port- 
manteau. Confound that other apprentice in the back 


180 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


shop, how he is hammering ! — rap, rap, rap — what an 
industrious fellow he must be ! you have heard him at 
work for half an hour past, and he has been hammering 
incessantly the whole time. Rap, rap, rap, again — he’s 
talking now — what’s that he said ? Five o’clock ! You 
make a violent exertion, and start up in bed. The vision 
is at once dispelled ; the trunk-maker’s shop is your own 
bedroom, and the other apprentice your shivering ser- 
vant, who has been vainly endeavoring to wake you for 
the last quarter of an hour, at the imminent risk of 
breaking either his own knuckles or the panels of the 
door, 

You proceed to dress yourself, with all possible de- 
spatch. The flaring flat candle with the long snuff, gives 
light enough to show that the things you want are not 
where they ought to be, and you undergo a trifling delay 
in consequence of having carefully packed up one of 
your boots in your over anxiety of the preceding night. 
You soon complete your toilet, however, for you are not 
particular on such an occasion, and you shaved yesterday 
evening ; so, mounting your Petersham great-coat, and 
green travelling-shawl, and grasping your carpet-bag in 
your right hand, you walk lightly dow r n-stairs, lest you 
should awaken any of the family, and after pausing in 
the common sitting-room for one moment, just to have 
a cup of coffee (the said common sitting-room looking 
remarkably comfortable, with everything out of its place, 
and strewed with the crumbs of last night’s supper), you 
undo the chain and bolts of the street-door, and find 
yourself fairly in the street. 

A thaw, by all that is miserable ! The frost is com- 
pletely broken up. You look down the long perspective 
of Oxford Street, the gas-lights mournfully reflected on 


EARLY COACHES. 


181 


the wet pavement, and can discern no speck in the road 
to encourage the belief that there is a cab or a coach to 
be had — the very coachmen have gone home in despair. 
The cold sleet is drizzling down with that gentle regu- 
larity, which betokens a duration of four-and-twenty 
1 lours at least ; the damp hangs upon the house-tops, and 
lamp-posts, and clings to you like an invisible cloak. 
The water is “ coming in ” in every area, the pipes have 
burst, the water-butts are running over; the kennels 
seem to be doing matches against time, pump-handles 
descend of their own accord, horses in market-carts fall 
down, and there’s no one to help them up again, police- 
men look as if they had been carefully sprinkled with 
powdered glass ; here and there a milk-woman trudges 
slowly along, with a bit of list round each foot to keep 
her from slipping ; boys who “ don’t sleep in the house,” 
and are not allowed much sleep out of it, can’t wake 
their masters by thundering at the shop-door, and cry 
with the cold — the compound of ice, snow, and water 
on the pavement, is a couple of inches thick — nobody 
Ventures to walk fast to keep himself warm, and nobody 
could succeed in keeping himself warm if he did. 

It strikes a quarter past live as you trudge down 
Waterloo Place on your way to the Golden Cross, and 
you discover, for the first time, that you were called 
about an hour too early.* You have not time to go back ; 
there is no place open to go into, and you have, there- 
fore, no resource but to go forward, which you do, feel- 
ing remarkably satisfied with yourself and everything 
about you. You arrive at the office, and look wistfully 
up the yard for the Birmingham High-flier, which, for 
aught you can see, may have flown away altogether, for 
no preparations appear to be on foot for the departure 


182 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


of any vehicle in the shape of a coach. You wander 
into the booking-office, which with the gas-lights and 
blazing fire, looks quite comfortable by contrast — that 
is to say, if any place can look comfortable at half-past 
five on a winter’s morning. There stands the identical 
book-keeper in the same position as if he had not moved 
since you saw him yesterday. As he informs you, that 
the coach is up the yard, and will be brought round in 
about a quarter of an hour, you leave your bag, and 
repair to “ The Tap ” — not with any absurd idea of 
warming yourself, because you feel such a result to be 
utterly hopeless, but for the purpose of procuring some 
hot brandy-and-water, which you do, — when the kettle 
boils ! an event which occurs exactly two minutes and a 
half before the time fixed for the starting of the coach. 

The first stroke of six peals from St. Martin’s church 
steeple, just as you take the first sip of the boiling 
liquid. You find yourself at the booking-office in two 
seconds, and the tap-waiter finds himself much comforted 
by your brandy-and-water, in about the same period. 
The coach is out ; the horses are in, and the guard and 
two or three porters are stowing the luggage away, and 
running up the steps of the booking-office, and down 
the steps of the booking-office, with breathless rapidity. 
The place, which a few minutes ago, was so still and 
quiet, is now all bustle ; the early venders of the morn- 
ing papers have arrived, and you are assailed on all sides 
with shouts of u Times , gen’lm’n, Times” “ Here’s Chron 
• — Chron — Chron” “ Herald , ma’am,” “ Highly interest- 
ing murder, gen’lm’n,” “ Curious case o’ breach o’ prom- 
ise, ladies.” The inside passengers are already in their 
dens, and the outsides, with the exception of yourself, 
aire pacing up and down the pavement to keep them- 


EARLY COACHES. 


183 


selves warm ; they consist of two young men with very 
long hair, to which the sleet has communicated the 
appearance of crystallized rats’ tails ; one thin young 
woman cold and peevish, one old gentleman ditto ditto, 
and something in a cloak and cap, intended to represent 
a military officer ; every member of the party with a 
large stiff shawl over his chin, looking exactly as if he 
were playing a set of Pan’s pipes. 

“ Take off the cloths, Bob,” says the coachman, who 
now appears for the first time, in a rough blue great-coat, 
of which the buttons behind are so far apart, that you 
can’t see them both at the same time. “ Now, gen’lm’n,” 
cries the guard, with the way-bill in his hand. “ Five 
minutes behind time already!” Up jump the passen- 
gers — the two young men smoking like lime-kilns, and 
the old gentleman grumbling audibly. The thin young 
woman is got upon the roof, by dint of a great deal of 
pulling, and pushing, and helping, and trouble, and she 
repays it by expressing her solemn conviction that she 
will never be able to get down again. 

“ All right,” sings out the guard at last, jumping up 
as the coach starts, and blowing his horn directly after- 
wards, in proof of the soundness of his wind. “ Let 
’em go, Harry, give ’em their heads,” cries the coach- 
man — and off we start as briskly as if the morning 
were “ all right,” as well as the coach : and looking for- 
ward as anxiously to the termination of our journey, as 
we fear our readers will have done, long since, to the 
conclusion of our paper. 


184 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

OMNIBUSES. 

It is very generally allowed that public conveyances 
afford an extensive field for amusement and observation. 
Of all the public conveyances that have been constructed 
since the days of the Ark — we think that is the earliest 
on record — to the present time, commend us to an 
omnibus. A long stage is not to be despised, but there 
you have only six insides, and the chances are, that 
the same people go all the way with you — there is no 
change, no variety. Besides, after the first twelve hours 
or so, people get cross and sleepy, and when you have 
seen a man in his nightcap, you lose all respect for him ; 
at least that is the case with us. Then on smooth roads 
people frequently get prosy, and tell long stories, and 
even those who don’t talk may have very unpleasant 
predilections* We once travelled four hundred miles, 
inside a stage-coach, with a stout man, who had a glass 
of rum-and-water warm, handed in at the window at 
every place where we changed horses. This was decid- 
edly unpleasant. We have also travelled occasionally, 
with a small boy of a pale aspect, with light hair, and 
no perceptible neck, coming up to town from school 
under the protection of the guard, and directed to be 
left at the Cross Keys till called for. This is, perhaps, 
even worse than rum-and-water in a close atmosphere. 
Then there is the whole train of evils consequent on a 
change of the coachman ; and the misery of the discov- 


OMNIBUSES. 


185 


ery — which the guard is sure to make the moment you 
begin to doze — that he wants a brown-paper parcel, 
which he distinctly remembers to have deposited under 
the seat on which you are reposing. A great deal of 
bustle and groping takes place, and when you are thor- 
oughly awakened, and severely cramped, by holding 
your legs up by an almost supernatural exertion, while 
he is looking behind them, it suddenly occurs to him 
that he put it in the fore-boot. Bang goes the door; 
the parcel is immediately found ; off starts the coach 
again ; and the guard plays the key-bugle as loud as he 
can play it, as if in mockery of your wretchedness. 

Now, you meet with none of these afflictions in an 
omnibus ; sameness there can never be. The passen- 
gers change as often in the course of one journey as the 
figures in a kaleidoscope, and though not so glittering, 
are far more amusing. We believe there is no instance 
on record, of a man’s having gone to sleep in one of 
these vehicles. As to long stories, would any man ven- 
ture to tell a long story in an omnibus ? and even if he 
did, where would be the harm ? nobody could possibly 
hear what he was talking about. Again ; children, 
though occasionally, are not often to be found in an 
omnibus; and even when they are, if the vehicle be 
full, as is generally the case, somebody sits upon them, 
and we are unconscious of their presence. Yes, after 
mature reflection, and considerable experience, we are 
decidedly of opinion, that of all known vehicles, from 
the glass coach in which we were taken to be christened, 
to that sombre caravan in which we must one day make 
our last earthly journey, there is nothing like an omni- 
bus. 

We will back the machine in which we make our 


186 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


daily peregrination from the top of Oxford Street to 
the city, against any “ buss ” on the road, whether it be 
for the gaudiness of its exterior, the perfect simplicity 
of its interior, or the native coolness of its cad. This 
young gentleman is a singular instance of self-devotion ; 
his somewhat intemperate zeal on behalf of his employ- 
ers, is constantly getting him into trouble, and occasion- 
ally into the house of correction. He is no sooner 
emancipated, however, than he resumes the duties of 
his profession with unabated ardor. His principal dis- 
tinction is his activity. His great boast is, “ that he can 
chuck an old gen’lm’n into the buss, shut him in, and 
rattle off, afore he knows where it’s agoing too ” — a 
feat which he frequently performs, to the infinite amuse- 
ment of every one but the old gentleman concerned, 
who, somehow or other, never can see the joke of the 
thing. 

We are not aware that it has ever been precisely as- 
certained, how many passengers our omnibus will contain. 
The impression on the cad’s mind, evidently is, that it is 
amply sufficient for the accommodation of any number 
of persons that can be enticed into it. “ Any room ? ” 
cries a very hot pedestrian. “ Plenty o’ room, sir,” re- 
plies the conductor, gradually opening the door, and not 
disclosing the real state of the case until the wretched 
man is on the steps. u Where ? ” inquires the entrapped 
individual, with an attempt to back out again. “ Either 
side, sir,” rejoins the cad, shoving him in, and slamming 
the door. “ All right, Bill.” Retreat is impossible ; the 
new-comer rolls about, till he falls down somewhere, and 
there he stops. 

As we get into the city a little before ten, four or five 
of our party are regular passengers. We always take 


OMNIBUSES. 


187 


them up at the same places, and hey generally occupy 
the same seats ; they are always dressed in the same 
manner, and invariably discuss the same topics — the 
increasing rapidity of cabs, and the disregard of moral 
obligations evinced by omnibus men. There is a little 
testy old man, with a powdered head, who always sits on 
the light-hand side of the door as you enter, with his 
hands folded on the top of his umbrella. He is ex- 
tremely impatient, and sits there for the purpose of keep 
ing a sharp eye on the cad, with whom he generally holds 
a running dialogue. He is very officious in helping peo- 
ple in and out, and always volunteers to give the cad a 
poke with his umbrella, when any one wants to alight. 
He usually recommends ladies to have sixpence ready, 
to prevent delay ; and if anybody puts a window down, 
that he can reach, he immediately puts it up again. 

“ Now, what are you stopping for ? ” says the little old 
man every morning, the moment there is the slightest in- 
dication of “ pulling up ” at the corner of Regent Street, 
when some such dialogue as the following takes place 
between him and the cad : — 

“ What are you stopping for ? ” 

Here the cad whistles and affects not to hear the 
question. 

“ I say [a poke], what are you stopping for ? ” 

“ For passengers, sir. Ba — nk. — Ty.” 

“ I know you’re stopping for passengers ; but you’ve 
no business to do so. Why are you stopping ? ” 

“ Vy, sir, that’s a difficult question. I think it is be- 
cause we prefer stopping here to going on.” 

“Now mind,” exclaims the little old man, with great 
vehemence, “ I’ll pull you up to-morrow ; I’ve often 
threatened to do it ; now I will.” 


188 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


“ Thankee, sir,” replies the cad, touching his hat with 
a mock expression of gratitude ; — “ werry much obliged 
to you indeed, sir.” Here the young men in the omnibus 
laugh very heartily, and the old gentleman gets very red 
in the face, and seems highly exasperated. 

The stout gentleman in the white neckcloth, at the 
other end of the vehicle, looks very prophetic, and says 
that something must shortly be done with these fellows, 
or there’s no saying where all this will end; and the 
shabby-genteel man with the green bag, expresses his 
entire concurrence in the opinion, as he has done regu- 
larly every morning for the last six months* 

A second omnibus now comes up, and stops imme- 
diately behind us. Another old gentleman elevates his 
cane in the air, and runs with all his might towards our 
omnibus ; we watch his progress with great interest ; the 
door is opened to receive him, he suddenly disappears — 
he has been spirited away by the opposition. Hereupon 
the driver of the opposition taunts our people with his 
having “ regularly done ’em out of that old swell,” and 
the voice of the “ old swell ” is heard, vainly protesting 
against this unlawful detention. We rattle off, the other 
omnibus rattles after us, and every time we stop to take 
up a passenger, they stop to take him too ; sometimes we 
get him ; sometimes they get him ; but whoever don’t 
get him, say they ought to have had him, and the cads 
of the respective vehicles abuse one another accordingly. 

As we arrive in the vicinity of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, 
Bedford Row, and other legal haunts, we drop a great 
many of our original passengers, and take up fresh ones, 
who meet with a very sulky reception. It is rather re- 
markable that the people already in an omnibus, always 
look at new-comers, as if they entertained some unde- 


* 


THE LAST CAB-DRIVER. 


189 


fined idea that they have no business to come in at all. 
We are quite persuaded the little old man has. some 
notion of this kind, and that he considers their entry as 
a sort of negative impertinence. 

Conversation is now entirely dropped ; each person 
gazes vacantly through the window in front of him, and 
everybody thinks that his opposite neighbor is staring at 
him. If one man gets out at Shoe Lane, and another at 
the corner of Farringdon Street, the little old gentleman 
grumbles, and suggests to the latter, that if he had got 
out at Shoe Lane too, he would have saved them the 
delay of another stoppage ; whereupon the young men 
laugh again, and the old gentleman looks very solemn, 
and says nothing more till he gets to the Bank, when he 
trots off as fast as he can, leaving us to do the same, and 
to wish, as we walk away, that we could impart to others 
any portion of the amusement we have gained for our- 
selves. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THE LAST CAB-DRIVER AND THE FIRST OMNIBUS CAB. 

Of all the cabriolet-drivers whom we ever had the 
honor and gratification of knowing by sight — and our 
acquaintance in this way has been most extensive 
there is one who made an impression on our mind which 
can never be effaced, and who awakened in our bosom a 
'eeling of admiration and respect, which we entertain a 
fatal presentiment will never be called forth again by any 
human being. He was a man of most simple and pre* 


190 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


possessing appearance. He was a brown-whiskered, 
whiterhatted, no-coated cabman ; his nose was generally 
red, and his bright blue eye not unfrequently stood out in 
bold relief against a black border of artificial workman- 
ship ; his boots were of the Wellington form, pulled up 
to meet his corduroy knee-smalls, or at least to approach 
as near them as their dimensions would admit of ; and 
his neck was usually garnished with a bright yellow 
handkerchief. In summer he carried in his mouth a 
flower ; in winter, a straw — slight, but to a contempla- 
tive mind, certain indications of a love of nature, and a 
taste for botany. 

His cabriolet was gorgeously painted — a bright red ; 
and wherever we went, City or West End, Paddington or 
Holloway, North, East, West, or South, there was the 
red cab, bumping up against the posts at the street-cor- 
ners, and turning in and out, among hackney-coaches, and 
drays, and carts, and wagons, and omnibuses, and con- 
triving by some strange means or other, to get out of 
places which no other vehicle but the red cab could ever 
by any possibility have contrived to get into at all. Our 
fondness for that red cab was unbounded. How we should 
have liked to see it in the circle at Astley’s ! Our life 
upon it, that it should have performed such evolutions as 
would have put the whole company to shame — Indian < 
chiefs, knights, Swiss peasants, and all. 

Some people object to the exertion of getting into cabs, | 
and others object to the difficulty of getting out of them ; 
we think both these are objections which take their rise j 
in perverse and ill-conditioned minds. The getting into j 
a cab is a very pretty and graceful process, which, when 
well performed, is essentially melodramatic. First, there 
is the expressive pantomime of every one of the eighteen 


THE LAST CAB-DRIVER. 


191 


cabmen on the stand, the moment you raise your eyes 
from the ground. Then there is your own pantomime in 
reply — quite a little ballet. Four cabs immediately 
leave the stand, for your especial accommodation ; and 
the evolutions of the animals who draw them, are beauti- 
ful in the extreme, as they grate the wheels of the cabs 
against the curb-stones, and sport playfully in the kenneL 
You single out a particular cab, and dart swiftly towards 
it. One bound, and you are on the first step ; turn your 
body lightly round to the right, and you are on the sec- 
ond ; bend gracefully beneath the reins, working round 
to the left at the same time, and you are in the cab. 
There is no difficulty in finding a seat ; the apron knocks 
you comfortably into it at once, and off you go. 

The getting out of a cab, is, perhaps, rather more com- 
plicated in its theory, and a shade more difficult in its 
execution. We have studied the subject a great deal, 
and we think the best way is, to throw yourself out, and 
trust to chance for alighting on your feet. If you make 
the driver alight first, and then throw yourself upon him, 
you will find that he breaks your fall materially. In the 
event of your contemplating an offer of eightpence, on 
no account make the tender, or show the money, until you 
are safely on the pavement. It is very bad policy attempt- 
ing to save the fourpence. You are very much in the 
power of a cabman, and he considers it a kind of fee not 
to do you any wilful damage. Any instruction, however, 
in the art of getting out of a cab, is wholly unnecessary 
if you are going any distance, because the probability is, 
that you will be shot lightly out before you have com- 
pleted the third mile. 

We are not aware of any instance on record in which 
a cab-horse has performed three consecutive miles with* 


192 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


out going down once. What of that ? It is all excite- 
ment And in these days of derangement of the ner- 
vous system and universal lassitude, people are con ten* 
to pay handsomely for excitement ; where can it be pro- 
cured at a cheaper rate ? 

But to return to the red cab ; it was omnipresent. 
You had but to walk down Holborn, or Fleet Street, or 
any of the principal thoroughfares in which there is a 
great deal of traffic, and judge for yourself. You had 
hardly turned into the street, when you saw a trunk or 
two, lying on the ground : an uprooted post, a hat-box, a 
portmanteau, and a carpet-bag, strewed about in a very 
picturesque manner : a horse in a cab standing by, look- 
ing about him with great unconcern ; and a crowd, shout- 
ing and screaming with delight, cooling their flushed 
faces against the glass windows of a chemist’s shop. — 
“ What’s the matter here, can you tell me ? ” — “ O’ny a 
cab, sir.” — “ Anybody hurt, do you know ? ” — “ O’ny 
the fare, sir. I see him a-turnin’ the corner, and I ses to 
another gen’lm’n, 4 that’s a reg’lar little oss that, and he’s 
a-comin’ along rayther' sweet, a’n’t he?’ — ‘He just is,’ 
ses the other gen’lm’n, ven bump they comes agin the 
post, and out flies the fare like bricks.” Need we say it 
was the red cab ; or that the gentleman with the straw in 
his mouth, who emerged so coolly from the chemist’s 
shop and philosophically climbing into the little dickey, 
started off at full gallop, was the red cab’s licensed 
driver ? 

The ubiquity of this red cab, and the influence it ex- 
ercised over the risible muscles of justice itself, was per- 
fectly astonishing. You walked into the justice-room of 
the Mansion-house: the whole court resounded with 
merriment. The Lord Mayor threw himself back 


THE LAST CAB-DRIVER. 


198 


in his chair, in a state of frantic delight at his own 
joke; every vein in Mr. Hobler’s countenance was 
swollen with laughter, partly at the Lord Mayor's 
facetiousness, but more at his own ; the constables 
and police-officers were (as in duty bound) in ecsta- 
sies at Mr. Hobler and the Lord Mayor combined 
and the very paupers, glancing respectfully at the 
beadle’s countenance, tried to smile, as even he relaxed. 
A tall, weazen-faced man, with an impediment in his 
speech, would be endeavoring to state a case of impo- 
sition against the red cab’s driver ; and the red cab’s 
driver, and the Lord Mayor, and Mr. Hobler, would be 
having a little fun among themselves, to the inordinate 
delight of everybody but the complainant. In the end, 
justice would be so tickled with the red-cab-driver’s 
native humor, that the fine would be mitigated, and he 
would go away full gallop, in the red cab, to impose on 
somebody else without loss of time. 

The driver of the red cab, confident in the strength of 
his own moral principles, like many other philosophers, 
was wont to set the feelings and opinions of society 
at complete defiance. Generally speaking, perhaps, he 
would as soon carry a fare safely to his destination, as he 
would upset him — sooner, perhaps, because in that case 
he not only got the money, but had the additional amuse- 
ment of running a longer heat against some smart rival. 
But society made war upon him in the shape of penal- 
ties, and he must make war upon society itt his own way. 
This was the reasoning of the red-cab-driver. So, he 
bestowed a searching look upon the fare, as he put his 
hand in his waistcoat-pocket, when he had gone half the 
mile, to get the money ready 1 ; and if he brought forth 
eight pence, out he went. 

VOL. i. 13 


194 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


The last time we saw our friend was one wet evening 
in Tottenham Court Road, when he was engaged in a 
very warm and somewhat personal altercation with a 
loquacious little gentleman in a green coat. Poor fellow ! 
there were great excuses to be made for him : he had 
not received above eighteenpence more than his fare, and 
consequently labored under a great deal of very natural 
indignation. The dispute had attained a pretty consider- 
able height, when at last the loquacious little gentleman, 
making a mental calculation of the distance, and finding 
that he had already paid more than he ought, avowed his 
unalterable determination to “ pull up ” the cabman in 
the morning. 

“ Now, just mark this, young man,” said the little gen- 
tleman, “ I’ll pull you up to-morrow morning.” 

“ No ! will you though ? ” said our friend with a sneer. 

“ I will,” replied the little gentleman, “ mark my 
words, that’s all. If I live till to-morrow morning, you 
shall repent this.” 

There was a steadiness of purpose, and indignation of 
speech, about the little gentleman, as he took an angry 
pinch of snuff, after this last declaration, which made a 
visible impression on the mind of the red-cab-driver. 
He appeared to hesitate for an instant. It was only for 
an instant ; his resolve was soon taken. 

“ You’ll pull me up, will you ? ” said our friend. 

“ I will,” rejoined the little gentleman, with even 
greater vehemence than before. 

“ Very well,” said our friend, tucking up his shirt- 
sleeves very calmly. “ There’ll be three veeks for that. 
Wery good; that’ll bring me up to the middle o’ next 
month. Three veeks more would carry me on to my 
birthday, and then I’ve got ten pound to draw. I may 


THE LAST CAB— DRIVER. 


195 


as well get board, lodgin’, and washin’, till then, out of 
the county, as pay for it myself; consequently here 
goes ! ” 

So, without more ado, the red - cab - driver knocked 
the little gentleman down, and then called the police to 
take himself into custody, with all the civility in the 
world. 

A story is nothing without the sequel ; and therefore 
we may state, that to our certain knowledge, the board, 
lodging, and washing, were all provided in due course. 
We happen to know the fact, for it came to our knowl- 
edge, thus : We went over the House of Correction 
for the county of Middlesex shortly after, to witness the 
operation of the silent system ; and looked on all the 
u wheels ” with the greatest anxiety, in search of our 
long-lost friend. He was nowhere to be seen, however, 
and we began to think that the little gentleman in the 
green coat must have relented, when as we were travers- 
ing the kitchen-garden, which lies in a sequestered part 
of the prison, we were startled by hearing a voice, which 
apparently proceeded from the wall, pouring forth its 
soul in the plaintive air of “ all round my hat,” which 
was then just beginning to form a recognized portion of 
our national music. 

We started. — “ What voice is that?” said we. 

The Governor shook his head. 

“ Sad fellow,” he replied, “ very sad. He positively 
refused to work on the wheel ; so, after many trials, I 
was compelled to order him into solitary confinement. 
He says he likes it very much though, and I am afraid 
he does, for he lies on his back on the floor, and flings 
comic songs all day ! ” 

Shall we add that our heart had not deceived us : and 


196 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


that the comic singer was no other than our eagerly 
sought friend, the red-cab-driver? 

We have never seen him since, but we have strong 
reason to suspect that this noble individual was a distant 
relative of a waterman of our acquaintance, who, on one 
occasion, when we were passing the coach-stand over 
which he presides, after standing very quietly to see a 
tall man struggle into a cab, ran up very briskly when it 
was all over (as his brethren invariably do), and, touch- 
ing his hat, asked, as a matter of course, for “ a copper 
for the waterman.” Now, the fare was by no means a 
handsome man ; and, waxing very indignant at the de- 
mand, he replied — “ Money ! What for ? Coming up 
and looking at me, I suppose?” — “Yell, sir,” rejoined 
the waterman, with a smile of immovable complacency, 
“ That's worth twopence.” 

This identical waterman afterwards attained a very 
prominent station in society ; and as we know something 
of his life, and have often thought of telling what we do 
know, perhaps we shall never have a better opportunity 
than the present. 

Mr. William Barker, then, for that was the gentle- 
man’s name, Mr. William Barker was born but why 

need we relate where Mr. William Barker was born, or 
when ? Why scrutinize the entries in parochial ledgers, 
or seek to penetrate the Lucinian mysteries of lying-in 
hospitals ? Mr. William Barker was born, or he had 
never been. There is a son — there was a father. There 
is an effect — there was a cause. Surely this is sufficient 
information for the most Fatima-like curiosity; and, if it 
be not, we regret our inability to supply any further evi- 
dence on the point. Can there be a more satisfactory, or 
more strictly parliamentary course ? Impossible. 


THE FIRST OMNIBUS CAD. 


197 


We at once avow a similar inability to record at what 
precise period, or by what particular process, this gentle- 
man’s patronymic of William Barker became corrupted 
into “ Bill Boorker.” Mr. Barker acquired a high stand- 
ing, and no inconsiderable reputation, among the mem- 
bers of that profession to which he more peculiarly de- 
voted his energies ; and to them he was generally known, 
cither by the familiar appellation of “ Bill Boorker,” or 
the flattering designation of “ Aggerawatin Bill,” the lat- 
ter being a playful and expressive sobriquet , illustrative 
of Mr. Barker’s great talent in “ aggerawatin ” and ren- 
dering wild such subjects of her Majesty as are con- 
veyed from place to place, through the instrumentality 
of omnibuses. Of the early life of Mr. Barker little is 
known, and even that little is involved in considerable 
doubt and obscurity. A want of application, a restless- 
ness of purpose, a thirsting after porter, a love of all that 
is roving and cadger-like in nature, shared in common 
with many other great geniuses, appear to have been his 
leading characteristics. The busy hum of a parochial 
free-school, and the shady repose of a county jail, were 
alike inefficacious in producing the slightest alteration in 
Mr. Barker’s disposition. His feverish attachment to 
change and variety, nothing could repress ; his native 
daring no punishment could subdue. 

If Mr. Barker can be fairly said to have had any 
weakness in his earlier years, it was an amiable one — 
love ; love in its most comprehensive form — a love of 
ladies, liquids, and pocket-handkerchiefs. It was no self- 
ish feeling ; it was not confined to his own possessions, 
which but too many men regard with exclusive compla- 
cency. No ; it was a nobler love — a general principle. 
It extended itself with equal force to the property of 
other people. 


198 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


There is bomething very affecting in this. It is sIH 
more affecting to know, that such philanthropy is but 
imperfectly rewarded. Bow Street, Newgate, and Mill 
Bank, are a poor return for general benevolence, evincing 
itself in an irrepressible love for all created objects. Mr. 
Barker felt it so. After a lengthened interview with the 
highest legal authorities, he quitted his ungrateful coun 
try, with the consent, and at the expense of its Govern 
ment ; proceeded to a distant shore ; and there employed 
himself, like another Cincinnatus, in clearing and culti- 
vating the soil — a peaceful pursuit, in which a term of 
seven years glided almost imperceptibly away. 

Whether, at the expiration of the period we have just 
mentioned, the British Government required Mr. Bark- 
er’s presence here, or did not require his residence 
abroad, we have no distinct means of ascertaining. We 
should be inclined, however, to favor the latter position, 
inasmuch as we do not find that he was advanced to any 
other public post on his return, than the post at the 
corner of the Haymarket, where he officiated as assist- 
ant waterman to the hackney-coach stand. Seated, in 
this capacity, on a couple of tubs near the curb-stone, 
with a brass-plate and number suspended round his neck 
by a massive chain, and his ankles curiously enveloped 
in haybands, he is supposed to have made those observa- 
tions on human nature which exercised so material an 
influence over all his proceedings in later life. 

Mr. Barker had not officiated for many months in this 
capacity, when the appearance of the first omnibus caused 
the public mind to go in a new direction, and prevented 
a great many hackney-coaches from going in any direc- 
tion at all. The genius of Mr. Barker at once perceived 
the whole extent of the injury that would be eventually 


THE FIRST OMNIBUS CAD. 


199 


inflicted on cab and coach stands, and, by consequence, 
on watermen also, by the progress of the system of which 
the first omnibus was a part. He saw, too, the necessity 
of adopting some more profitable profession ; and his 
active mind at once perceived how much might be done 
in the way of enticing the youthful and unwary, and 
shoving the old and helpless, into the wrong buss, and 
carrying them off, until, reduced to despair, they ran- 
somed themselves by the payment of sixpence a-head, or, 
to adopt his own figurative expression in all its native 
beauty, “ till they was rig’larly done over, and forked out 
the stumpy.” 

An opportunity for realizing his fondest anticipations 
soon presented itself. Rumors were rife on the hackney- 
coach stands, that a buss was building, to run from Lisson 
Grove to the Bank, down Oxford Street and Holborn ; 
and the rapid increase of busses on the Paddington Road, 
encouraged the idea. Mr. Barker secretly and cautiously 
inquired in the proper quarters. The report was correct; 
the “ Royal William ” was to make its first journey on 
the following Monday. It was a crack affair altogether. 
An enterprising young cabman, of established reputation 
as a dashing whip — for he had compromised with the 
parents of three scrunched children, and just “worked 
out ” his fine for knocking down an old lady — was the 
driver ; and the spirited proprietor, knowing Mr. Bark- 
er’s qualifications, appointed him to the vacant office of 
cad on the very first application. The buss began to 
run, and Mr. Barker entered into a new suit of clothes, 
and on a new sphere of action. 

T) recapitulate all the improvements introduced by 
this extraordinary man, into the omnibus system — grad- 
ually, indeed, but surely — would occupy a far greater 


200 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


space than we are enabled to devote to this imperfect 
memoir. To him is universally assigned the original 
suggestion of the practice which afterwards became so 
general — of the driver of a second buss keeping con- 
stantly behind the first one, and driving the pole of his 
vehicle either into the door of the other, every time it 
was opened, or through the body of any lady or gentle- 
man who might make an attempt to get into it ; a humor- 
ous and pleasant invention, exhibiting all that originality 
of idea and fine bold flow of spirits so conspicuous in 
every action of this great man. 

Mr. Barker had opponents of course ; what man in 
public life has not ? But even his worst enemies cannot 
deny that he has taken more old ladies and gentlemen to 
Paddington who wanted to go to the Bank, and more old 
ladies and gentlemen to the Bank who wanted to go to 
Paddington, than any six men on the road ; and however 
much malevolent spirits may pretend to doubt the accu- 
racy of the statement, they well know it to be an estab- 
lished fact, that he has forcibly conveyed a variety of 
ancient persons of either sex, to both places, who had 
not the slightest or most distant intention of going any- 
where at all. 

Mr. Barker was the identical cad who nobly distin- 
guished himself, some time since, by keeping a tradesman 
on the step — the omnibus going at full speed all the 
time — till he had thrashed him to his entire satisfaction, 
and finally throwing him away when he had quite done 
with him. Mr. Barker it ought to have been, who hon- 
estly indignant at being ignominiously ejected from a 
house of public entertainment, kicked the landlord in the 
knee, and thereby -caused his death. We say it ought to 
have been Mr. Barker, because the action was not a 


THE FIRST OMNIBUS CAD. 201 

Dommon one, and could have emanated from no ordinary 
mind. 

It has now become matter of history ; it is recorded 
in the Newgate Calendar ; and we wish we could attrib- 
ute this piece of daring heroism to Mr. Barker. We 
regret being compelled to state that it was not performed 
by him. Would, for the family credit we could add, that 
it was achieved by his brother ! 

It was in the exercise of the nicer details of his pr> 
fession, that Mr. Barker’s knowledge of human nature 
was beautifully displayed. He could tell at a glance 
where a passenger wanted to go to, and would shout the 
name of the place accordingly, without the slightest ref- 
erence to the real destination of the vehicle. He knew 
exactly the kind of old lady that would be too much 
flurried by the process of pushing in, and pulling out of 
the caravan, to discover where she had been put down, 
until too late ; had an intuitive perception of what was 
passing in a passenger’s mind, when he inwardly resol ved 
to “ pull that cad up to-morrow morning ; ” and never 
failed to make himself agreeable to female servants, 
whom he would place next the door, and talk to all the 
way. 

Human judgment is never infallible, and it would occa- 
sionally happen that Mr. Barker experimentalized with 
the timidity or forbearance of the wrong person, in which 
case a summons to a police-office, was, on more than one 
occasion, followed by a committal to prison. It was not 
in the power of trifles such as these, however, to subdue 
the freedom of his spirit. As soon as they passed away, 
he resumed the duties of his profession with unabated 
ardor. 

We have spoken of Mr. Barker and of the red-cab 


202 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


driver in the past tense. Alas ! Mr. Barker has again 
become an absentee ; and the class of men to which they 
both belonged are fast disappearing. Improvement has 
peered beneath the aprons of our cabs, and penetrated 
to the very innermost recesses of our omnibuses. Dirt 
and fustian will vanish before cleanliness and livery. 
Slang will be forgotten when civility becomes general : 
and that enlightened, eloquent, sage, and profound body, 
the Magistracy of London, will be deprived of half their 
amusement, and half their occupation. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 

We hope our readers will not be alarmed at this 
rather ominous title. We assure them that we are not 
about to become political, neither have we the slightest 
intention of being more prosy than usual — if we can 
help it. It has occurred to us that a slight sketch of the 
general aspect of “the House,” and the crowds that 
resort to it on the night of an important debate, would 
be productive of some amusement; and as we have 
made some few calls at the aforesaid house in our time 
— have visited it quite often enough for our purpose, 
and a great deal too often for our own personal peace 
and comfort — we have determined to attempt the de- 
scription. Dismissing from our minds, therefore, all 
that feeling of awe, which vague ideas of breaches of 
privilege, Sergeant-at-Arms, heavy denunciations, and 


A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 


203 


still heavier fees, are calculated to awaken, we enter at 
once into the building, and upon our subject. 

Half-past four o’clock — and at five the mover of the 
Address will be “on his legs,” as the newspapers an- 
nounce sometimes by way of novelty, as if speakers 
were occasionally in the habit of standing on their 
heads. The members are pouring in, one after the 
other, in shoals. The few spectators who can obtain 
standing-room in the passages, scrutinize them as they 
pass, with the utmost interest, and the man who can 
identify a member occasionally, becomes a person of 
great importance. Every now and then you hear ear- 
nest whispers of “ That’s Sir John Thomson.” “ Which ? 
him with the gilt order round his neck ? ” “ No, no ; 

that’s one of the messengers — that other, with the 
yellow gloves, is Sir John Thomson.” “ Here’s Mr. 
Smith.” “ Lor ! ” “ Yes, how d’ye do, sir ? — (He is 

our new member) — How do you dc<, sir ? ” Mr. Smith 
stops : turns round with an air of enchanting urbanity 
(for the rumor of an intended dissolution has been very 
extensively circulated this morning) ; seizes both the 
hands of his gratified constituent, and, after greeting 
him with the most enthusiastic warmth, darts into the 
lobby with an extraordinary display of ardor in the 
public cause, leaving an immense impression in his 
favor on the mind of his “ fellow-townsman.” 

The arrivals increase in number, and the heat and 
noise increase in very unpleasant proportion. The liv- 
ery servants form a complete lane on either side of the 
passage, and you reduce yourself into the smallest pos- 
sible space to avoid being turned out. You see that 
stout man with the hoarse voice, in the blue coat, queer- 
browned, broad-brimmed hat, white corduroy breeches, 


204 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


and great boots, who has been talking incessantly for 
half an hour past, and whose importance has occasioned 
no small quantity of mirth among the strangers. That 
is the great conservator of the peace of Westminster. 
You cannot fail to have remarked the grace with which 
he saluted the noble Lord who passed just now, or the 
excessive dignity of his air, as he expostulates with the 
crowd. He is rather out of temper now, in consequence 
of the very irreverent behavior of those two young 
fellows behind him, who have done nothing but laugh till 
the time they have been here. 

“ Will they divide to-night, do you think, Mr. ? ” 

timidly inquires a little thin man in the crowd, hoping to 
conciliate the man of office. 

“ How can you ask such questions, sir ? ” replies the 
functionary, in an incredibly loud key, and pettishly 
grasping the thick stick he carries in his right hand. 
“ Pray do not, sir, I beg of you ; pray do not, sir.” 
The little man looks remarkably out of his element, and 
the uninitiated part of the throng are in positive convul- 
sions of laughter. 

Just at this moment, some unfortunate individual ap- 
pears, with a very smirking air, at the bottom of the 
long passage. He has managed to elude the vigilance 
of the special constable down-stairs, and is evidently 
congratulating himself on having made his way so far 

“Go back, sir — you must not come here,” shouts the 
hoarse one, with tremendous emphasis of voice and ges- 
lure, the moment the offender catches his eye. 

The stranger pauses. 

“ Do you hear, sir — will you go back ? ” continues the 
official dignitary, gently pushing the intruder some half- 
dozen yards. 


A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 


205 


“ Come, don’t push me,” replies the strangei, turning 
angrily round. 

“ I will, sir.” 

“ You won’t, sir.” 

u Go out, sir.” 

“ Take your hands off me, sir.” 

“ Go out of the passage, sir.” 

“ You are a Jack-in-office, sir.” 

“ A what ? ” ejaculates he of the boots. 

“A Jack-in-office, sir, and a very insolent fellow,” 
reiterates the stranger, now completely in a passion. 

“ Pray do not force me to put you out, sir,” retorts the 
other — “ pray do not — my instructions are to keep this 
passage clear — it’s the Speaker’s orders, sir.” 

“ D — n the Speaker, sir ! ” shouts the intruder. 

“ Here, Wilson ! — Collins ! ” gasps the officer, actually 
paralyzed at this insulting expression, which in his mind 
is all but high treason ; “ take this man out — take him 
out, I say ! How dare you, sir ? ” and down goes the 
unfortunate man five stairs at a time, turning round at 
every stoppage, to come back again, and denouncing 
bitter vengeance against the commander-in-chief, and all 
his supernumeraries. 

“ Make way, gentlemen, — pray make way for the 
Members, I beg of you ! ” shouts the zealous officer, turn- 
ing back, and preceding a whole string of the liberal and 
independent. 

You see this ferocious-looking gentleman, with a com* 
plexion almost as sallow as his linen, and whose large 
black moustache would give him the appearance of a 
figure in a hair-dresser’s window, if his countenance pos- 
sessed the thought which is communicated to those 
tfaxen caricatures of the human face divine. He is a 


206 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


militia-officer, and the most amusing person in the House, 
Can anything be more exquisitely absurd than the bur- 
lesque grandeur of his air, as he strides up to the lobby, 
his eyes rolling like those of a Turk’s head in a cheap 
Dutch clock? He never appears without that bundle 
of dirty papers which he carries under his left arm, and 
which are generally supposed to be the miscellaneous esti- 
mates for 1804, or some equally important documents. 
He is very punctual in his attendance at the House, and 
his self-satisfied u He-ar-He-ar,” is not unfrequently the 
signal for a general titter. 

This is the gentleman who once actually sent a mes- 
senger up to the Strangers’ gallery in the old House of 
Commons, to inquire the name of an individual who was 
using an eye-glass, in order that he might complain to 
the Speaker that the person in question was quizzing 
him ! On another occasion, he is reported to have re- 
paired to Bellamy’s kitchen — a refreshment room, 
where persons who are not Members are admitted on 
sufferance, as it were — and perceiving two or three 
gentlemen at supper, who he was aware were not Mem- 
bers, and could not, in that place, very well resent his 
behavior, he indulged in the pleasantry of sitting with 
his booted leg on the table at which they were supping ! 
He is generally harmless, though, and always amusing. 

By dint of patience, and some little interest with our 
friend the constable, we have contrived to make our way 
to the Lobby, and you can just manage to catch an occa- 
sional glimpse of the House, as the door is opened foi 
he admission of Members. It is tolerably full already, 
and little groups of Members are congregated together 
here, discussing the interesting topics of the day. 

That smart-looking fellow in the black coat, with 


A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 


207 


velvet facings and cuffs, who wears his D Orsay hat so 
rakishly, is “ Honest Tom,” a metropolitan representa- 
tive ; and the large man in the cloak with the white 
lining — not the man by the pillar ; the other, with the 
light hair hanging over his coat-collar behind — is his 
colleague. The quiet gentlemanly-looking man in the 
blue surtout, gray trousers, white neckerchief, and gloves, 
whose closely-buttoned coat displays his manly figure 
and broad chest to great advantage, is a very well-known 
character. He has fought a great many battles in his 
- time, and conquered like the heroes of old, with no other 
arms than those the gods gave him. The old hard- 
featured man who is standing near him, is really a good 
specimen of a class of men now nearly extinct. He is 
a county Member, and has been from time whereof 
the memory of man is not to the contrary. Look at his 
loose, wide, brown coat, with capacious pockets on each 
side ; the knee-breeches and boots, the immensely long 
waistcoat, and silver watch-chain dangling below it, the 
wide-brimmed brown hat, and the white handkerchief 
tied in a great bow, with straggling ends sticking out 
beyond his shirt-frill. It is a costume one Seldom sees 
nowadays, and when the few who wear it have died off 
it will be quite extinct. He can tell you long stories of 
Fox, Pitt, Sheridan, and Canning, and how much better 
the House was managed in those times, when they used 
to get up at eight or nine o’clock, except on regular field 
i days, of which everybody was apprised beforehand. He 
I has a great contempt for all young Members of Parlia- 

I ment, and thinks it quite impossible that a man can say 
anything worth hearing, unless he has sat in the House 
for fifteen years at least, without saying anything at all. 
He is of opinion that “ that young Macaulay ” was a 


205 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


regular impostor ; he allows that Lord Stanley may do 
something one of these days, but “ he’s too young, sir — 
too young.” He is an excellent authority on points of 
precedent, and when he grows talkative, after his wine, 
will tell you how Sir Somebody Something, when he 
was whipper-in for the Government, brought four men 
out of their beds to vote in the majority, three of whom 
died on their way home again ; how the House once 
divided on the question, that fresh candles be now 
brought in ; how the Speaker was once upon a time left, 
in the chair by accident, at the conclusion of business, 
and was obliged to sit in the House by himself for three 
hours, till some Member could be knocked up and brought 
back again, to move the adjournment ; and a great many 
other anecdotes of a similar description. 

There he stands, leaning on his stick ; looking at the 
throng of Exquisites around him with most profound 
contempt ; and conjuring up, before his mind’s eye, the 
scenes he beheld in the old House in days gone by, when 
his own feelings were fresher and brighter, and when, as 
he imagines, wit, talent, and patriotism flourished more 
brightly too. 

You are curious to know who that young man in the 
rough great-coat is, who has accosted every Member who 
has entered the House since we have been standing here. 
He is not a Member; he is only an “hereditary bonds- 
man,” or, in other words, an Irish correspondent of an 
Irish newspaper, who has just procured his forty-second 
frank from a Member whom he never saw in his life be- 
fore. There he goes again — another ! Bless the man, 
he has his hat and pockets full already. 

We will try our fortune at the Strangers’ gallery, 
though the nature of the debate encourages very litfc • 


A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 


209 


hope of success. What on earth are you about ? Hold- 
ing up your order as if it were a talisman at whose com- 
mand the wicket would fly open ? Nonsense. Just 
preserve the order for an autograph, if it be worth keep- 
ing at all, and make your appearance at the door with 
your thumb and forefinger expressively inserted in your 
waistcoat-pocket. This tall stout man in black is the 
doorkeeper. “ Any room ? ” — “ Not an inch — two or 
three dozen gentlemen waiting down-stairs on the chance 
of somebody’s going out.” Pull out your purse — “ Are 
you quite sure there’s no room ? ” — “ I’ll go and look,” 
replies the doorkeeper, with a wistful glance at your 
purse,' “ but I’m afraid there’s not.” He returns, and 
with real feeling assures you that it is morally impossi- 
ble to get near the gallery. It is of no use waiting. 
When you are refused admission into the Strangers’ gal- 
lery at the House of Commons, under such circumstances, 
you may return home thoroughly satisfied that the place 
must be remarkably full indeed.* 

Retracing our steps through the long passage, descend- 
ing the stairs, and crossing Palace Yard, we halt at a 
small temporary doorway adjoining the King’s entrance 
to the House of Lords. The order of the sergeant-at- 
arms will admit you into the Reporters’ gallery, from 
whence you can obtain a tolerably good view of the 
House. Take care of the stairs, they are none of the 
best ; through this little wicket — there. As soon as 
your eyes become a little used to the mist of the place, 
and the glare of the chandeliers below you, you will see 
that some unimportant personage on the Ministerial side 

* This paper was written before the practice of exhibiting Members 
of Parliament, like other curiosities, for the small charge of half-a- 
crown, was abolished. 

VOL. i. 


14 


210 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


of the House (to your right hand) is speaking, amidst a 
hum of voices and confusion which would rival Babel, 
but for the circumstance of its being all in one language. 

The “ hear, hear/’ which occasioned that laugh, pro- 
ceeded from our warlike friend with the moustache ; he 
is sitting on the back seat against the wall, behind the 
Member who is speaking, looking as ferocious and intel- 
lectual as usual. Take one look around you, and retire ! 
The body of the House and the side galleries are full of 
Members ; some, with their legs on the back of the oppo- 
site seat ; some, with theirs stretched out to their utmost 
length on the floor ; some going out, others coming in ; 
all talking, laughing, lounging, coughing, o-ing, question- 
ing, or groaning ; presenting a conglomeration of noise 
and confusion, to be met with in no other place in exist- 
ence, not even excepting Smithfield on a market-day, or 
a cockpit in its glory. 

But let us not omit to notice Bellamy’s kitchen, or, 
in other words, the refreshment-room, common to both 
Houses of Parliament, where Ministerialists and Oppo 
sitionists, Whigs and Tories, Radicals, Peers, and De- 
structives, strangers from the gallery, and the more 
favored strangers from below the bar, are alike at liberty 
to resort ; where divers honorable Members prove their 
perfect independence by remaining during the whole of a 
heavy debate, solacing themselves with the creature com- 
forts ; and whence they are summoned by whippers-in, 
when the House is on the point of dividing ; either to 
give their “conscientious votes” on questions of which 
they are conscientiously innocent of knowing anything 
whatever, or to find a vent for the playful exuberance 
of their wine-inspired fancies, in boisterous shouts of 
“ Divide,” occasionally varied with a little howling, 


A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH 


211 


barking, crowing, or other ebullitions of senatorial pleas- 
antry. 

When you have ascended the narrow staircase which, 
in the present temporary House of Commons, leads to 
the place we are describing, you will probably observe a 
couple of rooms on your right hand, with tables spread 
for dining. Neither of these is the kitchen, although 
they are both devoted to the same purpose ; the kitchen 
is further on to our left, up these half-dozen stairs. Before 
we ascend the staircase, however, we must request you to 
pause in front of this little bar-place with the sash-win- 
dows ; and beg your particular attention to the steady 
honest-looking old fellow in black, who is its sole occu- 
pant. Nicholas (we do not mind mentioning the old fel- 
low’s name, for if Nicholas be not a public man, who is ? 
— and public men’s names are public property) — Nich- 
olas is the Butler of Bellamy’s, and has held the same 
place, dressed exactly in the same manner, and said pre- 
cisely the same things, ever since the oldest of its present 
visitors can remember. An excellent servant Nicholas 
is — an unrivalled compounder of salad-dressing — an 
admirable preparer of soda-water and lemon — a special 
mixer of cold grog and punch — and, above all, an un- 
equalled judge of cheese. If the old man have such a 
thing as vanity in his composition, this is certainly his 
pride ; and if it be possible to imagine that anything in 
this world could disturb his impenetrable calmness, we 
should say it would be the doubting his judgment on this 
important point. 

We needn’t tell you all this, however, for if you have 
an atom of observation, one glance at his sleek, knowing* 
i looking head and face — his prim white neckerchief, with 
; the wooden tie into which it has been regularly folded 


212 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


for twenty years past, merging by imperceptible degrees 
into a small-plaited shirt-frill — and his comfortable* 
looking form encased in a well-brushed suit of black — 
would give you a better idea of his real character than a 
column of our poor description could convey. 

Nicholas is rather out of his element now ; he cannot 
see the kitchen as he used to in the old House ; there, 
one window of his glass case opened into the room, and 
then, for the edification and behoof of more juvenile 
questioners, he would stand for an hour together, an- 
swering deferential questions about Sheridan, and Per- 
ceval, and Castlereagh, and Heaven knows who beside, 
with manifest delight, always inserting a “ Mister ” before 
every commoner’s name. 

Nicholas, like all men of his age and standing, has a 
great idea of the degeneracy of the times. He seldom 
expresses any political opinions, but we managed to 
ascertain, just before the passing of the Reform Bill, 
that Nicholas was a thorough Reformer. What was our 
astonishment to discover shortly after the meeting of the 
first reformed Parliament, that he was a most inveterate 
and decided Tory ! It was very odd : some men change 
their opinions from necessity, others from expediency, 
others from inspiration ; but that Nicholas should un- 
dergo any change in any respect, was an event we had 
never contemplated, and should have considered impos- 
sible. His strong opinion against the clause which em- 
powered the metropolitan districts to return Members to 
Parliament, too, was perfectly unaccountable. 

We discovered the secret at last ; the metropolitan 
Members always dined at home. The rascals ! As for 
giving additional Members to Ireland, it was even worse 
— decidedly unconstitutional. Why, sir, an Irish Mem- 


A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 


213 


ber would go up there, and eat more dinner than three 
English Members put together. He took no wine; 
drank table-beer by the half-gallon ; and went home 
to Manchester Buildings, or Milbank Street, for his 
whisky-and-water. And what was the consequence ? 
Why the concern lost — actually lost, sir — by his 
patronage. 

A queer old fellow is Nicholas, and as completely a 
part of the building as the house itself. We wonder he 
ever left the old place, and fully expected to see in the 
papers, the morning after the fire, a pathetic account of 
an old gentleman in black, of decent appearance, who 
was seen at one of the upper windows when the flames 
were at their height, and declared his resolute intention 
of falling with the floor. He must have been got out 
by force. However, he was got out — here he is again, 
looking as he always does, as if he had been in a band- 
box ever since the last session. There he is, at his old 
post every night, just as we have described him : and, as 
characters are scarce, and faithful servants scarcer, long 
may he be there say we ! 

Now, when you have taken your seat in the kitchen, 
and duly noticed the large fire and roasting-jack at one 
end of the room — the little table for washing glasses 
and draining jugs at the other — the clock over the win- 
dow opposite St. Margaret’s Church — the deal tables 
and wax candles — the damask table-cloths and bare 
floor — the plate and china on the tables, and the grid- 
iron on the fire ; and a few other anomalies peculiar to 
the place — we will point out to your notice two or three 
of the people present, whose station or absurdities render 
them the most worthy of remark. 

It is half-past twelve o’clock, and as the division is 


214 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


expected for an hour or two, a few Members are loung- 
ing away the time here, in preference to standing at the 
bar of the House, or sleeping in one of the side galleries. 
That singularly awkward and ungainly looking man, in 
the brownish-white hat, with the straggling black trousers 
which reach about half-way down the leg of his boots, 
who is leaning against the meat-screen, apparently de- 
luding himself into the belief that he is thinking about 
something, is a splendid sample of a Member of the 
House of Commons concentrating in his own person the 
wisdom of a constituency. Observe the wig, of a dark 
hue but indescribable color, for if it be naturally brown, 
it has acquired a black tint by long service, and if it be 
naturally black, the same cause has imparted to it a tinge 
of rusty brown ; and remark how very materially the 
great blinker-like spectacles assist the expression of that 
most intelligent face. Seriously speaking, did you ever 
see a countenance so expressive of the most hopeless 
extreme of heavy dulness, or behold a form so strangely 
put. together ? He is no great speaker : but when he does 
address the House, the effect is absolutely irresistible. 

The small gentleman with the sharp nose, who has just 
saluted him, is a Member of Parliament, an ex- Alderman, 
and a sort of amateur fireman. He, and the celebrated 
fireman’s dog, were observed to be remarkably active at 
the conflagration of the two Houses of Parliament — they 
botli ran up and down, and in and out, getting under peo- 
ple’s feet, and into everybody’s way, fully impressed with 
the belief, that they were doing a great deal of good, and 
barking tremendously. . The dog went quietly back to his 
kennel with the engine, but the gentleman kept up such 
nn incessant noise for some weeks after the occurrence, 
that he became a positive nuisance. As no more parlia- 


A PARLIAMENTARY SKETCH. 


215 


mentary fires have occurred, however, and as he has con- 
sequently had no more opportunities of writing to the 
newspapers to relate how, by way of preserving pictures, 
he cut them out of their frames, and performed other 
great national services, he has gradually relapsed into 
his old state of calmness. 

That female in black — not the one whom the Lord’s- 
Day-Bill Baronet has just chucked under the chin ; the 
shorter of the two — is “ Jane : ” the Hebe of Bellamy’s. 
Jane is as great a character as Nicholas, in her way. Her 
leading features are a thorough contempt for the great 
majority of her visitors ; her predominant quality, love 
of admiration, as you cannot fail to observe, if you mark 
the glee with which she listens to something the young 
Member near her mutters somewhat unintelligibly in her 
ear (for his speech is rather thick from some cause or 
other), and how playfully she digs the handle of a fork 
into the arm with which he detains her, by way of reply. 

Jane is no bad hand at repartees, and showers them 
about, with a degree of liberality and total absence of 
reserve or constraint, which occasionally excites no small 
amazement in the minds of strangers. She cuts jokes 
with Nicholas, too, but looks up to him with a great deal 
of respect; the immovable solidity with which Nicholas 
receives the aforesaid jokes, and looks on at certain pas- 
, toral friskings and rompings (Jane’s only recreations, and 
they are very innocent too) which occasionally takes 
I place in the passage, is not the least amusing part of his 
! character. 

The two persons who are seated at the table in the 
; corner, at the farther end of the room, have been con- 
; stant guests here, for many years past ; and one of them 
\as feasted within these walls, many a time, with the 


216 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


most brilliant characters of a brilliant period. He has 
gone up to the other House since then ; the greater part 
of his boon companions have shared Yorick’s fate, and 
his visits to Bellamy’s are comparatively few. 

If he really be eating his supper now, at what hour 
can he possibly have dined ! A second solid mass of 
rump -steak has disappeared, and he ate the first in four 
• minutes and three quarters, by the clock over the window. 
Was there ever such a personification of Falstaff! Mark 
the air with which he gloats over that Stilton as he re- 
moves the napkin which has been placed beneath his 
chin to catch the superfluous gravy of the steak, and 
with what gusto he imbibes the porter which has been 
fetched, expressly for him, in the pewter pot. Listen to 
the hoarse sound of that voice, kept down as it is by 
layers of solids, and deep draughts of rich wine, and tell 
us if you ever saw such a perfect picture of a regular 
gourmand ; and whether he is not exactly the man 
whom you would pitch upon as having been the partner 
of Sheridan’s parliamentary carouses, the volunteer driver 
of the hackney-coach that took him home, and the invol- 
untary upsetter of the whole party ? 

What an amusing contrast between his voice and ap- 
pearance, and that of the spare, squeaking old man, who 
sits at the same table, and who elevating a little cracked 
bantam sort of voice to its highest pitch, invokes damna- 
tion upon his own eyes or somebody else’s at the com- 
mencement of every sentence he utters. “ The Captain,” 
is they call him, is a very old frequenter of Bellamy’s ; 
much addicted to stopping “ after the House is up ” (an 
inexpiable crime in Jane’s eyes), and a complete walking 
reservoir of spirits and water. 

The old Peer — or rather, the old man — for his peer- 


PUBLIC DINNERS. 


217 


age is of comparatively recent date — has a huge tumbler 
of hot punch brought him; and the other damns and 
drinks, and drinks and damns, and smokes. Members 
arrive every moment in a great bustle to report that 
“The Chancellor of the Exchequer’s up,” and to get 
glasses of brandy-and-water to sustain them during the 
division ; people who have ordered supper, countermand 
it, and prepare to go down-stairs, when suddenly a bell is 
heard to ring with tremendous violence, and a cry of 
“ Di-vi-sion ! ” is heard in the passage. This is enough ; 
away rush the members pell-mell. The room is cleared 
in an instant ; the noise rapidly dies away ; you hear the 
creaking of the last boot on the last stair, and are left 
alone with the leviathan of rump-steaks. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

PUBLIC DINNERS. 

All public dinners in London, from the Lord Mayor’s 
annual banquet at Guildhall, to the Chimney-sweepers’ 
anniversary at White Conduit House ; from the Gold* 
smiths’ to the Butchers’, from the Sheriffs’ to the 
Licensed Victualler’s ; are amusing scenes. Of all enter- 
tainments of this description, however, we think the an- 
nual dinner of some public charity is the most amusing. 
At a Company’s dinner, the people are nearly all alike 
— regular old stagers, who make it a matter of business, 
and a thing not to be laughed at. At a political dinner, 
everybody is disagreeable, and inclined to speechify — 


218 


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much the same thing, by the by ; but at a charity dinner 
you see people of all sorts, kinds, and descriptions. The 
wine may not be remarkably special, to be sure, and we 
have heard some hard-hearted monsters grumble at the 
collection ; but we really think the amusement to be de- 
rived from the occasion, sufficient to counterbalance even 
these disadvantages. 

Let us suppose you are induced to attend a dinner of 
this description — “Indigent Orphans’ Friends’ Benevo- 
lent institution,” we think it is. The name of the charity 
is a line or two longer, but never mind the rest. You 
have a distinct recollection, however, that you purchased 
a ticket at the solicitation of some charitable friend : and 
you deposit yourself in a hackney-coach, the driver of 
which — no doubt that you may do the thing in style — 
turns a deaf ear to your earnest entreaties to be set 
down at the corner of Great Queen Street, and persists 
in carrying you to the very door of the Freemasons’, 
round which a crowd of people are assembled to witness 
the entrance of the indigent orphans’ friends. You hear 
great speculations as you pay the fare, on the possibility 
of your being the noble Lord who is announced to fill the 
chair on the occasion, and are highly gratified to hear it 
eventually decided that you are only a “ wocalist.” 

The first thing that strikes you, on your entrance, is 
the astonishing importance of the committee. You ob- 
serve a door on the first landing, carefully guarded by 
two waiters, in and out of which stout gentlemen with 
very red faces keep running, with a degree of speed 
highly unbecoming the gravity of persons of their years 
and corpulency. You pause, quite alarmed at the bustle, 
and thinking, in your innocence, that two or three people 
must have been carried out of the dining-room in fits, at 


PUBLIC DINNERS. 


219 


least. You are immediately undeceived by the waiter 

u Up-stairs, if you please, sir ; this is the committee- 
room.” Up-stairs you go, accordingly ; wondering, as 
you mount, what the duties of the committee can be, 
and whether they ever do anything beyond confusing 
each other, and running over the waiters. 

Having deposited your hat and cloak, and received a 
remarkably small scrap of pasteboard in exchange (which, 
as a matter of course, you lose, before you require it 
again), you enter the hall, down which there are three 
long tables for the less distinguished guests, with a cross 
table on a raised platform at the upper end for the recep- 
tion of the very particular friends of the indigent orphans. 
Being fortunate enough to find a plate without anybody’s 
card in it, you wisely seat yourself at once, and have a 
little leisure to look about you. Waiters, with wine- 
baskets in their hands, are placing decanters of sherry 
down the tables, at very respectable distances; melan- 
choly-looking saltcellars, and decayed vinegar-cruets, 
which might have belonged to the parents of the indigent 
orphans in their time, are scattered at distant intervals on 
the cloth ; and the knives and forks look as if they had 
done duty at every public dinner in London since the 
accession of George the First. The musicians are scrap- 
ing and grating and screwing tremendously — playing no 
notes but notes of preparation ; and several gentlemen 
are gliding along the sides of the tables, looking into 
plate after plate with frantic eagerness, the expression of 
their countenances growing more and more dismal as they 
meet with everybody’s card but their own. 

You turn round to take a look at the table behind you, 
and — not being in the habit of attending public dinners 
— are somewhat struck by the appearance of the party 


220 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


on which your eyes rest. One of its principal members 
appears to be a little man, with a long and rather in- 
Hamed face, and gray hair brushed bolt upright in front ; 
lie wears a wisp of black silk round his neck, without 
any stiffener, as an apology for a neckerchief, and is ad- 
dressed by his companions by the familiar appellation of 
“ Fitz,” or some such monosyllable. Near him is a stout 
man in a white neckerchief and butf waistcoat, with 
shining dark hair, cut very short in front, and a great 
round healthy looking face, on which he studiously pre- 
serves a half-sentimental simper. Next him, again, is a 
large-headed man, with black hair and bushy whiskers ; 
and opposite them are two or three others, one of whom 
is a little round-faced person, in a dress-stock and blue 
under- waistcoat. There is something peculiar in their 
air and manner, though you could hardly describe what 
it is ; you cannot divest yourself of the idea that they 
have come for some other purpose than mere eating and 
drinking. You have no time to debate the matter, how- 
ever, for the waiters (who have been arranged in lines 
down the room, placing the dishes on table), retire to the 
lower end ; the dark man in the blue coat and bright 
buttons, who has the direction of the music, looks up to 
the gallery, and calls out “ band ” in a very loud voice ; 
out burst the orchestra, up rise the visitors, in march 
fourteen stewards, each with a long wand in his hand, 
like the evil genius in a pantomime ; then the chairman, 
then the titled visitors ; they all make their way up the 
room, as fast as they can, bowing, and smiling, and 
smirking, and looking remarkably amiable. The ap- 
plause ceases, grace is said, the clatter of plates and 
dishes begins ; and every one appears highly gratified, 
either with the presence of the distinguished visitors, 


PUBLIC DINNERS. 221 

or the commencement of the anxiously expected din- 
ner. 

As to the dinner itself — the mere dinner — it goes 
off much the same everywhere. Tureens of soup are 
emptied with awful rapidity — waiters take plates of 
turbot away, to get lobster-sauce, and bring back plates 
of lobster-sauce without turbot ; people who can carve 
poultry, are great fools if they own it, and people who 
can't, have no wish to learn. The knives and forks form 
a pleasing accompaniment to Auber’s music, and Auber’s 
music would form a pleasing accompaniment to the din- 
ner, if you could hear anything besides the cymbals. 
The substantiate disappear — moulds of jelly vanish like 
lightning — hearty eaters wipe their foreheads, and ap- 
pear rather overcome with their recent exertions — peo- 
ple who have looked very cross hitherto, become remark- 
ably blind and ask you to take wine in the most friendly 
manner possible — old gentlemen direct your attention 
to the ladies’ gallery, and take great pains to impress you 
with the fact that the charity is always peculiarly fa- 
vored in this respect — every one appears disposed to 
become talkative — and the hum of conversation is loud 
and general. 

“ Pray, silence, gentlemen, if you please, for Non 
nobis ! ” shouts the toast-master with stentorian lungs — 
a toast-master’s shirt-front, waistcoat, and neckerchief, by 
the by, always exhibit three distinct shades of cloudy- 
white. — “Pray, silence, gentlemen, for Non nobis!” 
The singers, whom you discover to be no other than the 
very party that excited your curiosity at first, after 
“ pitching ” their voices, immediately begin too-tooing 
most dismally, on which the regular old stagers burst 
into occasional cries of — “ Sh — Sh — waiters ! — Si 


222 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


lence, waiters — stand still, waiters — keep back, wait- 
ers,” and other exorcisms, delivered in a tone of indig- 
nant remonstrance. The grace is soon concluded, and 
the company resume their seats. The uninitiated por- 
tion of the guests applaud Non nobis as vehemently as if 
it were a capital comic song, greatly to the scandal and 
indignation of the regular diners, who immediately at- 
tempt to quell this sacrilegious approbation, by cries of 
“ Hush, hush ! ” whereupon the others, mistaking these 
sounds for hisses, applaud more tumultuously than be- 
fore, and, by way of placing their approval beyond the 
possibility of doubt, shout “Encore!” most vociferously. 

The moment the noise ceases, up starts the toast- 
master : “ Gentlemen, charge your glasses, if you 

please ! ” Decanters having been handed about, and 
glasses filled, the toast-master proceeds, in a regular as- 
cending scale ; — “ Gentlemen — air — you — all charged ? 
Pray — silence — gentlemen — for — the cha — i — r ! ” 
The chairman rises, and, after stating that he feels it 
quite unnecessary to preface the toast he is about to pro- 
pose with any observations whatever, wanders into a 
maze of sentences, and flounders about in the most ex- 
traordinary manner, presenting a lamentable spectacle of 
mystified humanity, until he arrives at the words, “ con- 
stitutional sovereign of these realms,” at which elderly 
gentlemen exclaim “ Bravo ! ” and hammer the table tre- 
mendously with their knife-handles. “ Under any cir- 
cumstances, it would give him the greatest pride, it would 
give him the greatest pleasure — he might almost say, it 
would afford him satisfaction [cheers] to propose that 
toast. What must be his feelings, then, when he has the 
gratification of announcing, that he has received her 
Majesty’s commands to apply to the Treasurer of hei 


PUBLIC DINNERS. 


225 


Majesty’s Household, for her Majesty’s annual donation 
of 25Z., in aid of the funds of this charity ! ” This an- 
nouncement (which has been regularly made by every 
chairman, since the first foundation of the charity, forty- 
two years ago) calls forth the most vociferous applause ; 
the toast is drunk with a great deal of cheering and 
knocking ; and “ God save the Queen ” is sung by the 
“ professional gentlemen ; ” the unprofessional gentlemen 
joining in the chorus, and giving the national anthem an 
effect which the newspapers, with great justice, describe 
as “ perfectly electrical.” 

The other “ loyal and patriotic ” toasts having been 
drunk with all due enthusiasm, a comic song having been 
well sung by the gentleman with the small neckerchief, 
and a sentimental one by the second of the party, we 
come to the most important toast of the evening — “Pros- 
perity to the charity.” Here again we are compelled to 
adopt newspaper phraseology, and to express our regret 
at being “ precluded from giving even the substance of 
the noble lord’s observations.” Suffice it to say, that the 
speech, which is somewhat of the longest, is rapturously 
received ; and the toast having been drunk, the stewards 
(looking more important than ever) leave the room, and 
presently return, heading a procession of indigent or- 
phans, boys and girls, who walk round the room, courte- 
sying, and bowing, and treading on each other’s heels, 
and looking very much as if they would like a glass of 
wine apiece, to the high gratification of the company 
generally, and especially of the lady patronesses in the 
gallery. Exeunt children, and reenter stewards, each 
with a blue plate in his hand. The band plays a lively 
air ; the majority of the company put their hands in 
their pockets and lock rather serious ; and the noise of 


224 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


sovereigns, rattling on crockery, is heard from all parte 
of the room. 

After a short interval, occupied in singing and toasting, 
the secretary puts on his spectacles, and proceeds to read 
the report and list of subscriptions, the latter being lis- 
tened to with great attention. “ Mr. Smith, one guinea 

— Mr. Tompkins, one guinea — Mr. Wilson, one guinea 

— Mr. Hickson, one guinea — Mr. Nixon, one guinea — 
Mr. Charles Nixon, one guinea — [hear, hear !] — Mr. 
James Nixon, one guinea — Mr. Thomas Nixon, one 
pound one [tremendous applause]. Lord Fitz Binkle, 
the chairman of the day, in addition to an annual dona- 
tion of fifteen pounds — thirty guineas [prolonged knock- 
ing : several gentlemen knock the stems off their wine- 
glasses, in the vehemence of their approbation]. Lady 
Fitz Binkle, in addition to an annual donation of ten 
pound — twenty pound ” [protracted knocking and shouts 
of “ Bravo ! ”]. The list being at length concluded, the 
chairman rises and proposes the health of the secretary, 
than whom he knows no more zealous or estimable indi- 
vidual. The secretary, in returning thanks, observes that 
he knows no more excellent individual than the chair- 
man — except the senior officer of the chairty, whose 
health he begs to propose. The senior officer in return- 
ing thanks, observes that he knows no more worthy man 
than the secretary — except Mr. Walker, the auditor, 
whose health he begs to propose. Mr. Walker, in return- 
ing thanks, discovers some other estimable individual, to 
whom alone the senior officer is inferior — and so they 
go on toasting and lauding and thanking : the only other 
toast of importance being “ The Lady Patronesses now 
present ! ” on which all the gentlemen turn their faces 
towards the ladies’ gallery, shouting tremendously ; and 


THE FIRST OF MAY. 


225 


little priggish men, who have imbibed more wine than 
usual, kiss their hands and exhibit distressing contortions 
of visage. 

We have protracted our dinner to so great a length, 
that we have hardly time to add one word by way of 
grace. We can only entreat our readers not to imagine 
because we have attempted to extract some amusement 
from a charity dinner, that we are at all disposed to 
underrate, either the excellence of the benevolent insti- 
tutions with which London abounds, or the estimable 
motives of those who support them. 


CHAPTER XX. 

THE FIRST OF MAY. 

“ Now ladies, up in the sky-parlor: only once a year, if you please! * 
Young Lady with Brass Ladle. 

“ Sweep — sweep — sw-e-ep ! ” 

Illegal Watchword. 

The first of May ! There is a merry freshness in the 
sound, calling to our minds a thousand thoughts of all 
that is pleasant and beautiful in nature, in her most de- 
lightful form. What man is there over whose mind ? 
bright spring morning does not exercise a magic influ- 
ence — carrying him back to the days of his childish 
sports, and conjuring up before him the old green field 
with its gently- waving trees, where the birds sang as he 
has never heard them since — where the butterfly flut- 
15 


VOL. i. 


226 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


tered far more gayly than he ever sees him now, in all 
his rumblings — where the sky seemed bluer, and the 
sun shone more brightly — where the air blew more 
freshly over greener grass, and sweeter-smelling flowers 
— where everything wore a richer and more brilliant 
hue than it is ever dressed in now ! Such are the deep 
feelings of childhood, and such are the impressions which 
every lovely object stamps upon its heart ! The hardy 
traveller wanders through the maze of thick and pathless 
woods, where the sun’s rays never shone, and heaven’s 
pure air never played ; he stands on the brink of the 
roaring waterfall, and, giddy and bewildered, watches the 
foaming mass as it leaps from stone to stone, and from 
crag to crag ; he lingers in the fertile plains of a land 
of perpetual sunshine, and revels in the luxury of their 
balmy breath. But what are the deep forests, or the 
thundering waters, or the richest landscapes that bounte- 
ous nature ever spread, to charm the eyes, and captivate 
the senses of man, compared with the recollection of the 
old scenes of his early youth ? Magic scenes indeed, for 
the fancies of childhood dressed them in colors brighter 
than the rainbow, and almost as fleeting ! 

In former times, spring brought with it not only such 
associations as these, connected with the past, but sports 
and games for the present — merry dances round rustic 
pillars, adorned with emblems of the season, and reared 
in honor of its coming. Where are they now ! Pillars 
we have, but they are no longer rustic ones ; and as to 
dancers, they are used to rooms, and lights, and would 
not show well in the open air. Think of the immorality, 
too ! What would your Sabbath enthusiasts say, to an 
aristocratic ring encircling the Duke of York’s column 
in Carlton Terrace — a grand povssette of the middle 


THE FIRST OF MAY. 


227 


classes, round Alderman Waitliman’s monument in Fleet 
Street, — or a general hands-four-round of ten-pound 
householders, at the foot of the Obelisk in St. George’s 
Fields ? Alas ! romance can make no head against the 
riot act ; and pastoral simplicity is not understood by the 
police. 

Well ; many years ago we began to be a steady and 
matter-of-fact sort of people, and dancing in spring being 
beneath our dignity, we gave it up, and in course of time 
it. descended to the sweeps — a fall certainly, because, 
though sweeps are very good fellows in their way, and 
moreover very useful in a civilized community, they are 
not exactly the sort of people to give the tone to the 
little elegances of society. The sweeps, however, got 
the dancing to themselves, and they kept it up, and 
handed it down. This was a severe blow to the romance 
of spring-time, but, it did not entirely destroy it, either ; 
for a portion of it descended to the sweeps with the 
dancing, and rendered them objects of great interest. A 
mystery hung over the sweeps in those days. Legends 
were in existence of wealthy gentlemen who had lost 
children, and who, after many years of sorrow and suf- 
fering, had found them in the character of sweeps. 
Stories were related of a young boy who, having been 
stolen from his parents in his infancy, and devoted to the 
occupation of chimney-sweeping, was sent, in the course 
of his professional career, to sweep the chimney of his 
mother’s bedroom ; and how, being hot and tired when 
he came out of the chimney, he got into the bed he had 
so often slept in as an infant, and was discovered and 
recognized therein by his mother, who once every year 
of her life, thereafter, requested the pleasure of the 
company of every London sweep, at half-past one 


228 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


o’clock, to roast beef, plum-pudding, porter, and six- 
pence. 

Such stories as these, and there were many such, threw 
an air of mystery round the sweeps, and produced for 
them some of those good effects which animals derive 
from the doctrine of the transmigration of souls. No 
one ^except the masters) thought of ill-treating a sweep, 
because no one knew who he might be, or what noble- 
man’s or gentleman’s son he might turn out. Chimney- 
sweeping was, by many believers in the marvellous, con- 
sidered as a sort of probationary term, at an earlier or 
later period of which, divers young noblemen were to 
come into possession of their rank and titles ; and the 
profession was held by them in great respect accord- 
ingly. 

We remember, in our young days, a little sweep about 
our own age, with curly hair and white teeth, whom we 
devoutly and sincerely believed to be the lost son and 
heir of some illustrious personage — an impression which 
was resolved into an unchangeable conviction on our 
infant mind, by the subject of our speculations informing 
us, one day, in reply to our question, propounded a few 
moments before his ascent to the summit of the kitchen 
chimney, “ that he believed he’d been born in the vurkis, 
but he’d never know’d his father.” We felt certain, from 
that time forth, that he would one day be owned by a 
lord ; and we never heard the church-bells ring, or saw 
a flag hoisted in the neighborhood, without thinking that 
the happy event had at last occurred, and that his long- 
lost parent had arrived in a coach and six, to take him 
home to Grosvenor Square. He never came, however ; j 
and, at the present moment, the young gentleman in 
question is settled down as a master sweep in the neigh- 


THE FIRST OF MAY. 


229 


borhood of Battle Bridge, his distinguishing character- 
istics being a decided antipathy to washing himself, and 
the possession of a pair of legs very inadequate to the 
support of his unwieldly and corpulent body. 

The romance of spring having gone out before our 
time, we were fain to console ourselves as we best could 
with the uncertainty that enveloped the birth and parent- 
age of its attendant dancers, the sweeps ; and we did 
console ourselves with it, for many years. But, even 
this wretched source of comfort received a shock, from 
which it has never recovered — a shock, which has been, in 
reality, its death-blow. We could not disguise from our- 
selves the fact that whole families of sweeps were regu- 
larly born of sweeps, in the rural districts of Somers 
Town and Camden Town — that the eldest son suc- 
ceeded to the father’s business, that the other branches 
assisted him therein, and commenced on their own ac- 
count ; that their children again were educated to the 
profession ; and that about their identity there could be 
no mistake whatever. We could not be blind, we say, 
to this melancholy truth, but we could not bring our- 
selves to admit it, nevertheless, and we lived on for some 
years in a state of voluntary ignorance. We were roused 
from our pleasant slumber by certain dark insinuations 
thrown out by a friend of ours, to the effect that chil- 
dren in the lower ranks of life were beginning to choose 
chimney -sweeping as their particular walk ; that appli- 
cations had been made by various boys to the constituted 
authorities, to allow them to pursue the object of their 
ambition with the full concurrence and sanction of the 
law ; that the affair, in short, was becoming one of mere 
legal contract. We turned a deaf ear to these rumors 
at first, but slowly and surely they stole upon us. Month 


230 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


after month, week after week, nay, day after day, at last, 
did we meet with accounts of similar applications. The 
veil was removed, all mystery was at an end, and chim- 
ney-sweeping had become a favorite and chosen pursuit, 
There is no longer any occasion to steal boys ; for boys 
flock in crowds to bind themselves. The romance of the 
trade has fled, and the chimney-sweeper of the present 
day is no more like unto him of thirty years ago than 
is a Fleet Street pickpocket to a Spanish brigand, or 
Paul Pry to Caleb Williams. 

This gradual decay and disuse of the practice of lead- 
ing noble youths into captivity, and compelling them to 
ascend chimneys, was a severe blow, if we may so speak, 
to the romance of chimney-sweeping, and to the romance 
of spring at the same time. But even this was not all, 
for some few years ago the dancing on May-day began 
to decline ; small sweeps were observed to congregate in 
twos or threes, unsupported by a “ green,” with no “ My 
Lord ” to act as master of the ceremonies, and no “ My 
Lady ” to preside over the exchequer. Even in compa- 
nies where there was a “ green ” it was an absolute 
nothing — a mere sprout — and the instrumental accom- 
paniments rarely extended beyond the shovels and a set of 
Pan-pipes, better known to the many as a “ mouth-organ 

These were signs of the times, portentous omens of a 
coming change ; and what was the result which they 
shadowed forth ? Why, the master sweeps, influenced 
by a restless spirit of innovation, actually interposed 
their authority, in opposition to the dancing, and substi- 
tuted a dinner — an anniversary dinner at White Conduit 
House — where clean faces appeared in lieu of black ones 
smeared with rose pink ; and knee cords and tops super- 
seded nankeen drawers and rosetted shoes. 


THE FIRST OF MAY. 


231 


Gentlemen who were in the habit of riding shy horses ; 
and steady-going people, who have no vagrancy in their 
souls, lauded this alteration to the skies, and the conduct 
of the master sweeps was described as beyond the reach 
of praise. But how stands the real fact? Let any man 
deny, if he can, that when the cloth had been removed, 
fresh pots and pipes laid upon the table, and the custom- 
ary loyal and patriotic toasts proposed, the celebrated Mr. 
Sluffen, of Adam-and-Eve Court, whose authority not 
the most malignant of our opponents can call in ques- 
tion, expressed himself in a manner following : “ That 
now he’d cotcht the cheerman’s hi, lie vished he might be 
jolly veil blessed, if he worn’t agoin’ to have his innings, 
vich he vould say these here obserwashuns — that how 
some mischeevus coves as know’d nuffin about the con- 
sarn, had tried to sit people agin the mas’r swips, and 
take the shine out o’ their bis’nes, and the bread out o’ 
the traps o’ their preshus kids, by a’ makin’ o’ this here 
remark, as chimblies could be as veil svept by ’sheenery 
as by boys ; and that the rankin’ use o’ boys for that there 
purpuss vos barbareous ; vereas, he ’ad been a chummy — 
he begged the cheerman’s pardingfor usin’ such a wulgar 
hexpression — more nor thirty year — he might say he’d 
been born in a chimbley — and he know’d uncommon veil 
rs ’sheenery vos vus nor o’ no use : and as to kerhewelty 
to the boys, every body in the chimbley line know’d as 
veil as he did, that they liked the climbin’ better nor 
nuffin as vos.” From this day, we date the total fall of 
the last lingering remnant of May-day dancing, among 
the elite of the profession : and from this period we com- 
mence a new era in that portion of our spring associa- 
tions, which relates to the 1st of May. 

We are aware that the unthinking part of the popula- 


232 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


tion will meet us here with the assertion, that dancing 
on May-day still continues — that “ greens are annually 
seen to roll along the streets — that youths, in the garb 
of clowns, precede them, giving vent to the ebullitions of 
their sportive fancies ; and that lords and ladies follow in 
their wake. 

Granted. We are ready to acknowledge that in out- 
ward show, these processions have greatly improved : we 
do not deny the introduction of solos on the drum ; we 
will even go so far as to admit an occasional fantasia on 
the triangle, but here our admissions end. We positively 
deny that the sweeps have art or part in these proceedings. 
We distinctly charge the dustmen with throwing what 
they ought to clear away, into the eyes of the public. 
We accuse scavengers, brickmakers, and gentlemen who 
devote their energies to the costermongering line, with 
obtaining money once a-year, under false pretences. We 
cling with peculiar fondness to the custom of days gone by, 
and have shut out conviction as long as we could, but it 
has forced itself upon us ; and we now proclaim to a de- 
luded public, that the May-day dancers are not sweeps. 
The size of them, alone, is sufficient to repudiate the 
idea. It is a notorious fact that the widely spread taste 
for register-stoves has materially increased the demand 
for small boys ; whereas the men, who, under a fictitious 
character, dance about the streets on the first of May 
nowadays, would be a tight fit in a kitchen-flue, to say 
nothing of the parlor. This is strong presumptive evi- 
dence, but we have positive proof — the evidence of our 
own senses. And here is our testimony. 

Upon the morning of the second of the merry month 
of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hun- 
dred and thirty-six, we went out for a stroll, with a kind 


THE FIRST OF MAY. 


233 


of forlorn hope of seeing something or other which might 
induce us to believe that it was really spring, and not 
Christmas. After wandering as far as Copenhagen House, 
without meeting anything calculated to dispel our impres- 
sion that there was a mistake in the almanacs, we turned 
back down Maiden Lane, with the intention of passing 
through the extensive colony lying between it and Battle 
Bridge, which is inhabited by proprietors of donkey-carts, 
boilers of horseflesh, makers of tiles, and sifters of cin- 
ders ; through which colony we should have passed, 
without stoppage or interruption, if a little crowd gath- 
ered round a shed had not attracted our attention, and 
induced us to pause. 

When we say a “ shed,” we do not mean the conserva 
tory sort of building, which, according to the old song, 
Love tenanted when he was a young man, but a wooden 
house with windows stuffed with rags and paper, and a 
small yard at the side, with one dust-cart, two baskets, a 
few shovels, and little heaps of cinders, and fragments of 
china and tiles, scattered about it. Before this inviting 
spot we paused ; and the longer we looked, the more we 
wondered what exciting circumstance it could be, that 
induced the foremost members of the crowd to flatten 
their no^es against the parlor-window, in the vain hope 
of catching a glimpse of what was going on inside. 
After staring vacantly about us for some minutes, we 
appealed, touching the cause of this assemblage, to a 
gentleman in a suit of tarpauling, who was smoking his 
pipe on our right hand ; but as the only answer we ob- 
tained was a playful inquiry whether our mother had dis- 
posed of her mangle, we determined to await the issue in 
silence. 

Judge of our virtuous indignation, when the street-door 


234 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


of the shed opened, and a party emerged therefrom, clad 
in the costume and emulating the appearance, of May-day 
sweeps ! 

The first person who appeared was “ my lord,” habited 
in a blue coat and bright buttons, with gilt paper tacked 
over the seams, yellow knee-breeches, pink cotton stock- 
ings, and shoes ; a cocked hat, ornamented with shreds 
of various-colored paper, on his head, a bouquet , the size 
of a prize cauliflower in his buttonhole, a long Belcher 
handkerchief in his right hand, and a thin cane in his left. 
A murmur of applause ran through the crowd (which 
was chiefly composed of his lordship’s personal friends), 
when this graceful figure made his appearance, which 
swelled into a burst of applause as his fair partner in the 
dance bounded forth to join him. Her ladyship was at- 
tired in pink crape over bed-furniture, with a low body 
and short sleeves. The symmetry of her ankles was 
partially concealed by a very perceptible pair of frilled 
trousers ; and the inconvenience which might have re- 
sulted from the circumstance of her white satin shoes 
being a few sizes too large, was obviated by their being 
firmly attached to her legs with strong tape sandals. 

Her head was ornamented with a profusion of artificial 
flowers ; and in her hand she bore a large brass ladle, 
wherein to receive what she figuratively denominated 
“the tin.” The other characters were a young gentle- 
man in girl’s clothes and a widow’s cap ; two clowns who 
walked upon their hands in the mud, to the immeasurable 
delight of all the spectators ; a man with a drum ; an- 
other man with a flageolet ; a dirty woman in a large 
shawl, with a box under her arm for the money, — and 
last, though not least, the “ green,” animated by no less a 
personage than our identical friend in the tarpauling suit 


BROKERS’ AND MARINE-STORE SHOPS. 235 


The man hammered away at the drum, the flageolet 
squeaked, the shovels rattled, the “ green ” rolled about, 
pitching first on one side and then on the other ; my lady 
threw her right foot over her left ankle, and her left foot 
over her right ankle, alternately ; my lord ran a few 
paces forward, and butted at the “ green,” and then a 
few paces backward upon the toes of the crowd, and then 
went to the right, and then to the left, and then dodged 
my lady round the “ green ; ” and finally drew her arm 
through his, and called upon the boys to shout, which 
they did lustily — for this was the dancing. 

We passed the same group, accidentally, in the even- 
ing. We never saw a “ green ” so drunk, a lord so 
quarrelsome (no : not even in the house of peers after 
dinner), a pair of clowns so melancholy, a lady so muddy, 
or a party so miserable. 

How has May-day decayed ! 


CHAPTER XXI. 

BROKERS* AND MARINE-STORE SHOPS. 

When we affirm that brokers* shops are strange places, 
and that if an authentic history of their contents could be 
procured, it would furnish many a page of amusement, 
and many a melancholy tale, it is necessary to explain the 
class of shops to which we allude. Perhaps when we 
make use of the term “ Brokers’ Shop,” the minds of our 
readers will at once picture large, handsome warehouses, 
exhibiting a long perspective of French-polished dining- 


236 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


tables, rosewood chiffoniers, and mahogany wash-hand- 
Btands, with an occasional vista of a four-post bedstead 
and hangings, and an appropriate foreground of dining- 
room chairs. Perhaps they will imagine that we mean 
an humble class of second-hand furniture repositories. 
Their imagination will then naturally lead them to that 
street at the back of Long Acre, which is composed 
almost entirely of brokers’ shops ; where you walk 
through groves of deceitful, showy looking furniture, and 
where the prospect is occasionally enlivened by a bright 
red, blue, and yellow hearth-rug, embellished with the 
pleasing device of a mail-coach at full speed, or a strange 
animal, supposed to have been originally intended for a 
dog, with a mass of worsted-work in his mouth, which 
conjecture has likened to a basket of flowers. 

This, by the by, is a tempting article to young wives 
in the humbler ranks of life, who have a first floor-front 
to furnish — they are lost in admiration, and hardly 
know which to admire most. The dog is very beautiful, 
but they have a dog already on the best tea-tray, and 
two more on the mantel-piece. Then, there is some- 
thing so genteel about that mail-coach ; and the passen- 
gers outside (who are all hat) give it such an air of 
reality ! 

The goods here are adapted to the taste, or rather to 
the means, of cheap purchasers. There are some of the 
most beautiful looking Pembroke tables that were ever 
beheld : the wood as green as the trees in the Park, and 
the leaves almost as certain to fall off in the course of a 
year. There is also a most extensive assortment of tent 
and turn-up bedsteads, made of stained wood ; and in- 
numerable specimens of that base imposition on society 
— a sofa bedstead. 


BROKERS’ AND MARINE-STORE SHOPS. 237 

A turn-up bedstead is a blunt, honest piece of furni- 
ture ; it may be slightly disguised with a sham drawer , 
and sometimes a mad attempt is even made to pass it off 
for a bookcase ; ornament it as you will, however, the 
turn-up bedstead seems to defy disguise, and to insist on 
having it distinctly understood that he is a turn-up bed- 
stead, and nothing else — that he is indispensably neces- 
sary, and that being so useful, he disdains to be orna- 
mental. 

How different is the demeanor of a sofa bedstead \ 
Ashamed of its real use, it strives to appear an article 
of luxury and gentility — an attempt in which it miser- 
ably fails. It has neither the respectability of a sofa, nor 
the virtues of a bed ; every man who keeps a sofa bed- 
stead in life house, becomes a party to a wilful and de- 
signing fraud — we question whether you could insult 
him more, than by insinuating that you entertain the 
least suspicion of its real use. 

To return from this digression, we beg to say, that 
neither of these classes of brokers’ shops, form the sub- 
ject of this sketch. The shops to which we advert, are 
immeasurably inferior to those on whose outward appear- 
ance we have slightly touched. Our readers must often 
have observed in some by-street, in a poor neighborhood, 
a small dirty shop, exposing for sale the most extraordi- 
nary and confused jumble of old, worn-out, wretched 
articles, that can well be imagined. Our wonder at their 
ever having been bought, is only to be equalled by our 
astonishment at the idea of their ever being sold again. 
On a board, at the side of the door, are placed about 
twenty books — all odd volumes ; and as many wine- 
glasses — all different patterns ; several locks, an old 
earthenware pan, full of rusty keys ; two or three gaudy 


238 


SKETCHES BY BOZ, 


chimney-ornaments — cracked, of course ; the remains 
of a lustre, without any drops ; a round frame like a 
capital 0, which has once held a mirror ; a flute, com- 
plete with the exception of the middle joint ; a pair of 
curling-irons ; and a tinder-box. In front of the shop- 
window, are ranged some half dozen high-backed chairs, 
with spinal complaints and wasted legs ; a corner cup- 
board ; two or three very dark mahogany tables with flaps 
like mathematical problems ; some pickle-jars, some sur- 
geons’ ditto, with gilt labels and without stoppers ; an 
unframed portrait of some lady who flourished about the 
beginning of the thirteenth century, by an artist who 
never flourished at all ; an incalculable host of miscel- 
lanies of every description, including bottles and cabinets, 
rags and bones, fenders and street-door knockers, fire- 
irons, wearing-apparel and bedding, a hall-lamp, and a 
room-door. Imagine, in addition to this incongruous 
mass, a black doll in a white frock, with two faces — one 
looking up the street, and the other looking down, swing- 
ing over the door ; a board with the squeezed-up inscrip- 
tion “ Dealer in marine stores,” in lanky white letters, 
whose height is strangly out of proportion to their width ; 
and you have before you precisely the kind of shop to 
which we wish to direct your attention. 

Although the same heterogeneous mixture of things 
will be found at all these places, it is curious to observe 
how truly and accurately some of the minor articles 
which are exposed for sale — articles of wearing-apparel, 
for instance — mark the character of the neighborhood. 
Take Drury Lane and Covent Garden for example. 

This is essentially a theatrical neighborhood. Thert> 
is not a potboy in the vicinity who is not, to a greater or 
'ess extent, a dramatic character. The errand-boys and 


BROKERS’ AND MARINE-STORE SHOPS. 239 


chandler’s shop-keepers’ sons, are all stage-struck : they 
“ get up ” plays in back kitchens hired for the purpose, 
and will stand before a shop-window for hours, contem- 
plating a great staring portrait of Mr. somebody or other, 
of the Royal Coburg Theatre, “ as he appeared in the 
character of Tongo the Denounced.” The consequence is, 
that there is not a marine-store shop in the neighborhood, 
which does not exhibit for sale some faded articles of 
dramatic finery, such as three or four pairs of soiled buff 
boots with turn-over red tops, heretofore worn by a 
“ fourth robber,” or “ fifth mob ; ” a pair of rusty broad- 
swords, a few gauntlets, and certain resplendent orna- 
ments, which, if they were yellow instead of white, 
might be taken for insurance plates of the Sun Fire 
Office. There are several of these shops in the nar- 
row streets and dirty courts, of which there are so many 
near the national theatres, and they all have tempting 
goods of this description, with the addition, perhaps, of a 
lady’s pink dress covered with spangles ; white wreaths, 
stage shoes, and a tiara like a tin lamp reflector. They 
have been purchased of some wretched supernumeraries, 
or sixth-rate actors, and are now offered for the benefit 
of the rising generation, who, on condition of making 
certain weekly payments, amounting in the whole to 
about ten times their value, may avail themselves of such 
desirable bargains. 

Let us take a very different quarter, and apply it to 
the same test. Look at a marine-store dealers, in that 
reservoir of dirt, drunkenness, and drabs : thieves, 03 s- 
ters, baked potatoes, and pickled salmon — Ratcliff High- 
way. Here, the wearing-apparel is all nautical. Rough 
blue jackets, with mother-of-pearl buttons, oil-skin hats, 
coarse checked shirts, and large canvas trousers that 


240 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


look as if they were made for a pair of bodies instead of 
a pair of legs, are the staple commodities. Then, there 
are large bunches of cotton pocket-handkerchiefs, in color 
and pattern unlike any, one ever saw before, with the 
exception of those on the backs of the three young ladies 
without bonnets who passed just now. The furniture is 
much the same as elsewhere, with the addition of one or 
two models of ships, and some old prints of naval en- 
gagements in still older frames. In the window, are a 
few compasses, a small tray containing silver watches in 
clumsy thick cases ; and tobacco-boxes, the lid of each 
ornamented with a ship, or an anchor, or some such trophy. 
A sailor generally pawns or sells all he has before he has 
been long ashore, and if he does not, some favored com- 
panion kindly saves him the trouble. In either case, it 
is an even chance that he afterwards unconsciously re- 
purchases the same things at a higher price than he gave 
for them at first. 

Again : pay a visit with a similar object, to a part of 
London, as unlike both of these as they are to each other. 
Cross over to the Surrey side, and look at such shops of 
this description as are to be found near the King’s Bench 
prison, and in “ the Rules.” How different, and how 
strikingly illustrative of the decay of some of the unfor- 
tunate residents in this part of the metropolis ! Im- 
prisonment and neglect have done their work. There is 
contamination in the profligate denizens of a debtor’s 
prison ; old friends have fallen off ; the recollection of 
former prosperity has passed away ; and with, it all 
thoughts for the past, all care for the future. First, 
watches and rings, then cloaks, coats, and all the more 
expensive articles of dress, have found their way to the 
pawnbroker’s. That miserable resource has failed at last, 


GIN-SHOPS. 


241 


and the sale of some trifling article at one of these 
shops, has been the only mode left of raising a shilling 
or two, to meet the urgent demands of the moment. 
Dressing-cases and writing-desks, too old to pawn but 
tco good to keep ; guns, fishing-rods, musical instru- 
ments, all in th^ same condition ; have first been sold 
and the sacrifice has been but slightly felt. But, hunger 
must be allayed, and what has already become a habit, is 
easily resorted to, when an emergency arises. Light 
articles of clothing, first of the ruined man, then of his 
wife, at last of their children, even of the youngest, have 
been parted with, piecemeal. There they are, thrown 
carelessly together until a purchaser presents himself, 
old, and patched and repaired, it is true ; but the make 
and materials tell of better days ; and the older they are, 
the greater the misery and destitution of those whom 
they once adorned. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

GIN-SHOPS. 

It is a remarkable circumstance, that different trades 
appear to partake of the disease to which elephants and 
dogs are especially liable, and to run stark, staring, rav- 
ing mad, periodically. The great distinction between the 
animals and the trades, is, that the former run mad with 
a certain degree of propriety — they are very regular in 
their irregularities. We know the period at which the 
emergency will arise, and provide against it accordingly. 
16 


VOL. I. 


242 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


If an elephant run mad, we are all ready for him — kill 
or cure — pills or bullets — calomel in conserve of roses, 
or lead in a musket-barrel. If a dog happen to look 
unpleasantly warm in the summer months, and to trot 
about the shady side of the streets with a quarter of a 
yard of tongue hanging out of his mouth, a thick leather 
muzzle, which has been previously prepared in compli- 
ance with the thoughtful injunctions of the Legislature, 
is instantly clapped over his head, by way of making him 
cooler, and he either looks remarkably unhappy for the 
next six weeks, or becomes legally insane, and goes mad, 
as it were, by act of Parliament. But these trades are 
as eccentric as comets ; nay, worse, for no one can calcu- 
late on the recurrence of the strange appearances which 
betoken the disease. Moreover, the contagion is general, 
and the quickness with which it diffuses itself, almost 
incredible. 

We will cite two or three cases in illustration of our 
meaning. Six or eight years ago, the epidemic began to 
display itself among the linen-drapers and haberdashers. 
The primary symptoms were an inordinate love of plate- 
glass, and a passion for gas-lights and gilding. The dis- 
ease gradually progressed, and at last attained a fearful 
height. Quiet dusty old shops in different parts of town, 
were pulled down ; spacious premises with stuccoed fronts 
and gold letters, were erected instead ; floors were cov- 
ered with Turkey carpets ; roofs, supported by massive 
pillars ; doors, knocked into windows ; a dozen squares 
of glass into one ; one shopman into a dozen ; and there 
is no knowing what would have been done, if it had not 
been fortunately discovered, just in time, that the Com- 
missioners of Bankrupt were as competent to decide such 
cases as the Commissioners of Lunacy, and that a little 


GIN-SHOPS. 243 

confinement and gentle examination did wonders. The 
disease abated. It died away. A year or two of com- 
parative tranquillity ensued. Suddenly it burst out again 
among the chemists ; the symptoms were the same, with 
the addition of a strong desire to stick the royal arms 
over the shop-door, and a great rage for mahogany, var- 
nish, and expensive floor-cloth. Then, the hosiers were 
infected, and began to pull down their shop-fronts with 
frantic recklessness. The mania again died away, and 
the public began to congratulate themselves on its entire 
disappearance, when it burst forth with tenfold violence * 
among the publicans, and keepers of “ wine-vaults.” From 
that moment it has spread among them with unprece- 
dented rapidity, exhibiting a concatenation of all the pre- 
vious symptoms ; onward it has rushed to every part of 
town, knocking down all the old public-houses, and de- 
positing splendid mansions, stone balustrades, rosewood 
fittings, immense lamps, and illuminated clocks, at the 
corner of every street. 

The extensive scale on which these places are estab- 
lished, and the ostentatious manner in which the business 
of even the smallest among them is divided into branches, 
is amusing. A handsome plate of ground glass in one 
door directs you “ To the Counting-house ; ” another to 
the “ Bottle Department ; ” a third to the “ Wholesale 
Department ; ” a fourth to “ The Wine Promenade ; ” 
and so forth, until we are in daily expectation of meeting 
with a “ Brandy Bell,” or a “Whisky Entrance.” Then, 
ingenuity is exhausted in devising attractive titles for the 
different descriptions of gin ; and the dram-drinking por- 
tion of the community as they gaze upon the gigantic 
black and white announcements, which are only to be 
equalled in size by the figures beneath them, are left in 


244 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


a state of pleasing hesitation between “ The Cream of 
the Valley,” “ The Out and Out,” “ The No Mistake,” 
“ The Good for Mixing,” “ The real Knock-me-down,” 
“ The celebrated Butter Gin,” “ The regular Flare-up,” 
and a dozen other equally inviting and wholesome 
liqueurs . Although places of this description are to 
be met with in every second street, they are invariably 
numerous and splendid in precise proportion to the dirt 
and poverty of the surrounding neighborhood. The gin-- 
shops in and near Drury Lane, Holborn, St. Giles’s, 
Co vent Garden, and Clare Market, are the handsomest 
m London. There is more of filth and squalid misery 
near those great thoroughfares than in any part of this 
mighty city. 

We will endeavor to sketch the bar of a large gin- 
shop, and its ordinary customers, for the edification of 
such of our readers as may not have had opportunities 
of observing such scenes ; and on the chance of finding 
one well suited to our purpose, we will make for Drury 
Lane, through the narrow streets and dirty courts which 
divide it from Oxford Street, and that classical spot 
adjoining the brewery at the bottom of Tottenham Court 
Road, best known to the initiated as the “ Rookery.” 

The filthy and miserable appearance of this part of 
London can hardly be imagined by those (and there are 
many such) who have not witnessed it. Wretched houses 
with broken windows patched with rags and paper : every 
room let out to a different family, and in many instances 
(o two or even three — fruit and “sweet stuff ” manu- 
facturers in the cellars, barbers and red-herring venders 
in the front parlors, cobblers in the back ; a bird-fancier 
in the first floor, three families on the second, starvation 
in the attics, Irishmen in the passage, a “ musician ” in 


GIN-SHOPS. 


245 


the front kitchen, and a charwoman and five hungry 
children in the back one — filth everywhere — a gutter 
before the houses, and a drain behind — clothes drying 
and slops emptying, from the windows ; girls of fourteen 
or fifteen with matted hair, walking about barefoot, and 
in white great-coats, almost their only covering ; boys of 
all ages, in coats of all sizes and no coats at all ; men 
and women, in every variety of scanty and dirty apparel, 
lounging, scolding, drinking, smoking, squabbling, fight- 
ing, and swearing. 

You turn the corner. What a change ! All is light 
and brilliancy. The hum of many voices issues from 
that splendid gin-shop which forms the commencement 
of the two streets opposite ; and the gay building with 
the fantastically ornamented parapet, the illuminated 
clock, the plate-glass windows surrounded by stucco 
rosettes, and its profusion of gas-lights in richly gilt 
burners, is perfectly dazzling when contrasted with the 
darkness and dirt we have just left. The interior is 
even gayer than the exterior. A bar of French-polished 
mahogany, elegantly carved, extends the whole width of 
the place ; and there are two side-aisles of great casks, 
painted green and gold, enclosed within a light brass 
rail, and bearing such inscriptions as “ Old Tom, 549 ; ” 
“ Young Tom, 360 ; ” “ Samson, 1421 ” — the figures 
agreeing, we presume, with “ gallons,” understood. Be- 
yond the bar is a lofty and spacious saloon, full of the 
same enticing vessels, with a gallery running round it, 
equally well furnished. On the counter, in addition to 
the usual spirit apparatus, are two or three little baskets 
of cakes and biscuits, which are carefully secured at top 
with wicker-work, to prevent their contents being unlaw- 
fully abstracted. Behind it, are two showily dressed 


246 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


damsels with large necklaces, dispensing the spirits and 
“ compounds.” They are assisted by the ostensible pro- 
prietor of the concern, a stout coarse fellow in a fur cap, 
put on very much on one side to give him a knowing air, 
and to display his sandy whiskers to the best advantage. 

The two old washerwomen, who are seated on the little 
bench to the left of the bar, are rather overcome by the 
head-dresses and haughty demeanor of the young ladies 
who officiate. They receive their half-quartern of gin 
and peppermint with considerable deference, prefacing a 
request for “ one of them soft biscuits,” with a “ Jist be 
good enough, ma’am.” They are quite astonished at the 
impudent air of the young fellow in a brown coat and 
bright buttons, who, ushering in his two companions, and 
walking up to the bar in as careless a manner as if he 
had been used to green and gold ornaments all his life, 
winks at one of the young ladies with singular coolness, 
and calls for a “ kervorten and a three-out glass,” just as 
if the place were his own. “ Gin for you, sir ? ” says 
the young lady when she has drawn it: carefully looking 
every way but the right one, to show that the wink had 
no effect upon her. “ For me, Mary, my dear,” replies 
the gentleman in brown. “ My name a’n’t Mary, as it 
happens,” says the young girl, rather relaxing as she 
delivers the change. “ Well, if it a’n’t, it ought to be,” 
responds the irresistible one ; “ all the Marys as ever 1 
see, was handsome gals.” Here the young lady, not pre- 
cisely remembering how blushes are managed in such 
cases, abruptly ends the flirtation by addressing the 
female in the faded feathers who has just entered, and 
who, after stating explicitly, to prevent any subsequent 
misunderstanding, that “ this gentleman pays,” calls for 
u a glass of port-wine and a bit of sugar.” 


GIN-SHOPS. 


247 


Those two old men who came in “just to have a drain.” 
finished their third quartern a few seconds ago ; they have 
made themselves crying drunk ; and the fat comfortable- 
looking elderly women, who had u a glass of rum srub ” 
each, having chimed in with their complaints, on the hard- 
ness of the times, one of the women has agreed to stand 
a glass round, jocularly observing that “ grief never 
mended no broken bones, and as good people’s wery 
scarce, what I says is, make the most on ’em, and that’s 
all about it ! ” a sentiment which appears to afford unlim- 
ited satisfaction to those who have nothing to pay. 

It is growing late, and the throng of men, women, and 
children, who have been constantly going in and out, 
dwindles down to two or three occasional stragglers — 
cold, wretched-looking creatures, in the last stage of 
emaciation and disease. The knot of Irish laborers at 
the lower end of the place, who have been alternately 
shaking hands with, and threatening the life of each 
other, for the last hour, become furious in their disputes, 
and finding it impossible to silence one man, who is par- 
ticularly anxious to adjust the difference, they resort to 
the expedient of knocking him down and jumping on him 
afterwards. The man in the fur cap and the potboy 
rush out ; a scene of riot and confusion ensues ; half 
the Irishmen get shut out, and the other half get shut 
in ; the potboy is knocked among the tubs in no time ; 
the landlord hits everybody, and everybody hits the land- 
lord ; the barmaids scream ; the police come in ; the rest 
is a confused mixture of arms, legs, staves, torn coats, 
shouting, and struggling. Some of the party are borne 
off to the station-house, and the remainder slink home to 
oeat their wives for complaining, and kick the children 
for daring to be hungry. 


248 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


We have sketched this subject very slightly, not only 
because our limits compel us to do so, but because, if it 
were pursued farther, it would be painful and repulsive, 
Well-disposed gentlemen, and charitable ladies, would 
alike turn with coldness and disgust from a description 
of the drunken besotted men, and wretched broken-down 
miserable women, who form no inconsiderable portion of 
the frequenters of these haunts ; forgetting, in the pleas- 
ant consciousness of their own rectitude, the poverty of 
the one, and the temptation of the other. Gin-drinking 
is a great vice in England, but wretchedness and dirt are 
a greater ; and until you improve the homes of the poor, 
or persuade a half-famished wretch not to seek relief in 
the temporary oblivion of his own misery, with the pit- 
tance which, divided among his family, would furnish a 
morsel of bread for each, gin-shops will increase in num- 
ber and splendor. If Temperance Societies would sug- 
gest an antidote against hunger, filth, and foul air, or 
could establish dispensaries for the gratuitous distribution 
of bottles of Lethe- water, gin-palaces would be numbered 
among the things that were. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

THE PAWNBROKER'S SHOP. 

Of the numerous receptacles for misery and distress 
with which the streets of London unhappily abound, 
there are, perhaps, none which present such striking 
scenes as the pawnbrokers’ shops. The very nature and 


THE PAWNBROKER’S SHOP. 


249 


description of these places occasions their being but little 
known, except to the unfortunate beings whose profligacy 
or misfortune drives them to seek the temporary relief 
they offer. The subject may appear, at first sight, to be 
anything but an inviting one, but we venture on it never- 
theless, in the hope that, as far as the limits of our pres- 
ent paper are concerned, it will present nothing to disgust, 
even the most fastidious reader. 

There are some pawnbrokers’ shops of a very superior 
description. There are grades in pawning as in every- 
thing else, and distinctions must be observed even in 
poverty. The aristocratic Spanish cloak and the plebeian 
calico shirt, the silver fork, and the flat-iron, the muslin 
cravat and the Belcher neckerchief, would but ill assort 
together ; so, the better sort of pawnbroker calls himself a 
silversmith, and decorates his shop with handsome trin- 
kets and expensive jewellery, while the more humble 
money lender boldly advertises his calling, and invites 
observation. It is with pawnbrokers’ shops of the latter 
class, that we have to do. We have selected one for 
our purpose, and will endeavor to describe it. 

The pawnbroker’s shop is situated near Drury Lane, 
at the corner of a court, which affords a side entrance 
for the accommodation of such customers as may be de- 
sirous of avoiding the observation of the passers-by, or 
the chance of recognition in the public street. It is a 
low, dirty looking, dusty shop, the door of which stands 
always doubtfully, a little way open : half inviting, half 
repelling the hesitating visitor, who, if he be as yet unini- 
tiated, examines one of the old garnet brooches in the 
window for a minute or two with affected eagerness, as 
if he contemplated making a purchase ; and then looking 
ran lion sly round to ascertain that no one watches him, 


250 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


hastily slinks in ; the door closing of itself after him, te 
just its former width. The shop front and the window 
frames bear evident marks of having been once painted ; 
but, what the color was originally, or at what date it 
was probably laid on, are at this remote period questions 
which may be asked, but cannot be answered. Tradition 
states that the transparency in the front-door which dis- 
plays at night three red balls on a blue ground, once bore 
also, inscribed in graceful waves, the words “ Money 
advanced on plate, jewels, wearing apparel, and every 
description of property,” but a few illegible hieroglyphics 
are all that now remain to attest the fact. The plate and 
jewels would seem to have disappeared, together with the 
announcement, for the articles of stock, which are dis- 
played in some profusion in the window, do not include 
any very valuable luxuries of either kind. A few old 
china cups ; some modern vases, adorned with paltry 
paintings of three Spanish cavaliers playing three Span- 
ish guitars ; or a party of boors carousing : each boor 
with one leg painfully elevated in the air, by way of 
expressing his perfect freedom and gayety ; several sets 
of chessmen, two or three flutes, a few fiddles, a round- 
eyed portrait staring in astonishment from a very dark 
ground ; some gaudily bound prayer-books and testa- 
ments, two rows of silver watches quite as clumsy and 
almost as large as Ferguson’s first ; numerous old-fash- 
ioned table and tea-spoons, displayed, fan-like, in 
half-dozens ; strings of coral with great broad gilt snaps ; 
cards of rings and brooches, fastened and labelled sepa- 
rately, like the insects in the British Museum ; cheap 
silver penholders and snuff-boxes, with a masonic star 
complete the jewellery department ; while five or six 
beds in smeary clouded ticks, strings of blankets and 


THE PAWNBROKER’S SHOP. 


251 


Bheets, silk and cotton handkerchiefs, and wearing ap- 
parel of every description, form the more useful, though 
even less ornamental, part, of the articles exposed for sale 
An extensive collection of planes, chisels, saws, and other 
carpenters tools, which have been pledged, and never re- 
deemed, form the foreground of the picture ; while the 
large frames full of ticketed bundles, which are dimly 
seen through the dirty casement up-stairs — the squalid 
neighborhood — the adjoining houses, straggling, shrunk- 
en, and rotten, with one or two filthy, unwholesome-look- 
ing heads, thrust out of every window, and old red pans 
and stunted plants exposed on the tottering parapets, to 
the manifest hazard of the heads of the passers-by — 
the noisy men loitering under the archway at the corner 
of the court, or about the gin-shop next door — and their 
wives patiently standing on the curb-stone, with large 
baskets of cheap vegetables slung round them for sale, 
are its immediate auxiliaries. 

If the outside of the pawnbroker’s shop be calculated 
to attract the attention, or excite the interest, of the spec- 
ulative pedestrian, its interior cannot fail to produce the 
same effect in an increased degree. The front-door, 
which we have before noticed, opens into the common 
shop, which is the resort of all those customers whose 
habitual acquaintance with such scenes renders them in- 
different to the observation of their companions in pov- 
erty. The side-door opens into a small passage from 
which some half-dozen doors (which may be secured on 
the inside by bolts) open into a corresponding number of 
Little dens, or closets, which face the counter. Here, the 
more timid or respectable portion of the crowd shroud 
themselves from the notice of the remainder, and pa- 
tiently wait until the gentleman behind the counter, with 


252 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


the curly black hair, diamond ring, and double silvei 
watchguard shall feel disposed to favor them with his 
notice — a consummation which depends considerably 
on the temper of the aforesaid gentleman for the time 
being. 

At the present moment, this elegantly attired individ- 
ual is in the act of entering the duplicate he has just made 
out, in a thick book ; a process from which he is diverted 
occasionally, by a conversation he is carrying on with an- 
other young man similarly employed at a little distance 
from him, whose allusions to “ that last bottle of soda- 
water last night,” and “ how regularly round my hat he 
felt himself when the young ’ooman gave ’em in charge,” 
would appear to refer to the consequences of some stolen 
joviality of the preceding evening. The customers gen- 
erally, however, seem unable to participate in the amuse- 
ment derivable from this source, for an old sallow-looking 
woman, who has been leaning with both arms on the 
counter with a small bundle before her, for half an hour 
previously, suddenly interrupts the conversation by ad- 
dressing the jewelled shopman — “ Now, Mr. Henry, do 
make haste, there’s a good soul, for my two grandchil- 
dren’s locked up at home, and I’m afeerd of the tire.” 
The shopman slightly raises his head, with an air of deep 
abstraction, and resumes his entry with as much delibera- 
tion as if he were engraving. “ You’re in a hurry, Mrs. 
Tatham, this ev’nin’, a’n’t you ? ” is the only notice he 
deigns to take, after the lapse of live minutes or so. 
u Yes, I am indeed, Mr. Henry ; now, do serve me next, 
there’s a good creetur. I wouldn’t worry you, only it’s 
all along o’ them botherin’ children.” “ What have you 
got here ? ” inquires the shopman, unpinning the bundle 
— u old concern, I suppose — pair o’ stays and a petti cut. 


THE PAWNBROKER’S SHOP. 


253 


You must look up somethin’ else, old ’ooman ; I can’t 
lend you anything more upon them, they’re completely 
worn out by this time, if it’s only by putting in, and tak- 
ing out again, three times a week.” “ Oh ! you’re a rum 
un, you are,” replies the old woman, laughing extremely, 
as in duty bound ; “ I wish I’d got the gift of the gab 
like you ; see if I’d be up the spout so often then ! No, 
no ; it a’n’t the petticut ; it’s a child’s frock and a beauti- 
ful silk-ankecher, as belongs to my husband. He gave 
four shillin’ for it, the werry same blessed day as he 
broke his arm.” — “ What do you want upon these ? ” in- 
quires Mr. Henry, slightly glancing at the articles, which 
in all probability are old acquaintances. “ What do you 
want upon these ? ” — “ Eighteen-pence.” — “ Lend you 
ninepence.” — “ Oh, make it a shillin’ ; there’s a dear — 
do now ! ” — “ Not another farden.” — “ Well, I suppose 
I must take it.” The duplicate is made out, one ticket 
pinned on the parcel, the other given to the old woman ; 
the parcel is flung carelessly down into a corner, and 
some other customer prefers his claim to be served with- 
out further delay. 

The choice falls on an unshaven, dirty, sottish-looking 
fellow, whose tarnished paper cap, stuck negligently over 
one eye, communicates an additionally repulsive expres- 
sion to his very uninviting countenance. He was en- 
joying a little relaxation from his sedentary pursuits a 
quarter of an hour ago, in kicking his wife up the court. 
He has come to redeem some tools : — probably to com- 
plete a job with, on account of which he has already 
received some money, if his inflamed countenance and 
drunken stagger may be taken as evidence of the fact. 
Having waited some little time, he makes his presence 
known by venting his ill-humor on a ragged urchin, who, 


254 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


being unable to bring his face on a level with the coun- 
ter by any other process, has employed himself in climb- 
ing up, and then hooking himself on with his elbows — - 
an uneasy perch, from which he has fallen at intervals, 
generally alighting on the toes of the person in his im- 
mediate vicinity. In the present case, the unfortunate 
little wretch has received a cuff which sends him reeling 
to the door ; and the donor of the blow is immediately 
the object of general indignation. 

“What do you strike the boy for, you brute ?” ex- 
claims a slip-shod woman, with two flat-irons in a little 
basket. “ Do you think he’s your wife, you willin ? ” — 
“ Go and hang yourself! ” replies the gentleman ad- 
dressed, with a drunken look of savage stupidity, aiming 
at the same time a blow at the woman which fortunately 
misses its object. “ Go and hang yourself ; and wait till 
I come and cut you down.” — “ Cut you down,” rejoins 
the woman, “ I wish I had the cutting of you up, you 
wagabond I (loud.) Oh ! you precious wagabond ! (rather 
louder.) Where’s your wife, you willin ? (louder still ; 
women of this class are always sympathetic, and work 
themselves into a tremendous passion on the shortest 
notice.) Your poor dear wife as you uses worser nor a 
dog — strike a woman — you a man! (very shrill;) 1 
wish I had you — I’d murder you, I would, if I died for 
it ! ” — “ Now be civil,” retorts the man fiercely. “ He, 
civil, you wiper!” ejaculates the woman contemptu- 
ously. “A’n’t it shocking?” she continues, turning round, 
and appealing to an old woman who is peeping out of 
one of the little closets we have before described, and 
who has not the slightest objection to join in the attack, 
Dossessing, as she does, the comfortable conviction that 
she is bolted in. “ A’n’t it shocking, ma’am ? (Dreadful 1 


THE PAWNBROKER’S SHOP. 


25£ 


says the old woman in a parenthesis, not exactly know- 
ing what the question refers to.) He’s got a wife, ma’am, 
as takes in mangling, and is as ’dustrious and hard-work- 
ing a young ’ooman as can be, (very fast) as lives in the 
back parlor of our ’ous, which my husband and me lives 
in the front one (with great rapidity) — and we hears 
him abeaten’ on her sometimes when he comes home 
drunk, the whole night through, and not only abeaten’ 
her, but beaten’ his own child too, to make her more 
miserable — ugh, you beast ! and she, poor creater, won’t 
swear the peace agin him, nor do nothin’, because she 
likes the wretch arter all — worse luck ! ” Here as the 
woman has completely run herself out of breath, the 
pawnbroker himself, who has just appeared behind the 
counter in a gray dressing-gown, embraces the favorable 
opportunity of putting in a word : — “ Now I won’t have 
none of this sort of thing on my premises ! ” he inter- 
poses, with an air of authority. “Mrs. Mackin, keep 
yourself to yourself, or you don’t get fourpence for a 
flat-iron here ; and Jinkins, you leave your ticket here 
till you’re sober, and send your wife for them two planes, 
for I won’t have you in my shop at no price ; so make 
yourself scarce, before I make you scarcer.” 

This eloquent address produces anything but the effect 
desired ; the women rail in concert ; the man hits about 
him in all directions, and is in the act of establishing an 
indisputable claim to gratuitous lodgings for the night, 
when the entrance of his wife, a wretched worn-out 
woman, apparently in the last stage of consumption, whose 
face bears evident marks of recent ill-usage, and whose 
strength seems hardly equal to the burden — light enough 
God knows ! - of the thin sickly child she carries in her 
arms, turns his cowardly rage in a safer direction. “Come 


256 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


home, dear,” cries the miserable creature, in an imploring 
tone ; “do come home, there’s a good fellow, and go to 
bed.” — “ Go home yourself,” rejoins the furious ruffian. 
“ Do come home quietly,” repeats the wife, bursting into 
tears. “ Go home yourself,” retorts the husband again, 
enforcing his argument by a blow which sends the poor 
creature flying out of the shop. Her “ natural protector ” 
follows her up the court, alternately venting his rage in 
accelerating her progress, and in knocking the little 
scanty blue bonnet of the unfortunate child over its still 
more scanty and faded-looking face. 

In the last box, which is situated in the darkest and 
most obscure corner of the shop, considerably removed 
from either of the gas-lights, are a young delicate girl 
of about twenty, and an elderly female, evidently her 
mother from the resemblance between them, who stand 
at some distance back, as if to avoid the observation 
even of the shopman. It is not their first visit to a 
pawnbroker’s shop, for they answer without a moment’s 
hesitation the usual questions, put in a rather respectful 
manner, and in a much lower tone than usual, of “ What 
name shall I say ? — Your own property, of course ? — 
Where do you live ? — Housekeeper or lodger ? ” They 
bargain, too, for a higher loan than the shopman is at 
first inclined to offer, which a perfect stranger would be 
little disposed to do; and the elder female urges her 
daughter on, in scarcely audible whispers, to exert hci 
utmost powers of persuasion to obtain an advance of the 
sum, and expatiate on the value of the articles they have 
brought to raise a present supply upon. They are a 
small gold chain and a “ forget me not ” ring : the girl’s 
property, for they are both too small for the mother ; 
given her in better times ; prized, perhaps, once, for the 


THE PAWNBROKER’S SHOP. 


257 

giver’s sake, but parted with now without a struggle ; for 
want has hardened the mother, and her example has 
hardened the girl, and the prospect of receiving money, 
coupled with a recollection of the misery they have both 
endured from the want of it — the coldness of old friends 
— the stern refusal of some, and the still more galling 
compassion of others — appears to have obliterated the 
consciousness of self-humiliation, which the idea of their 
present situation would once have aroused. 

In the next box is a young female, whose attire, mis- 
erably poor, but extremely gaudy, wretchedly cold, but 
extravagantly fine, too plainly bespeaks her station. The 
rich satin gown with its faded trimmings, the worn-out 
thin shoes, and pink silk stockings, the summer bonnet 
in winter, and the sunken face, where a daub of rouge 
only serves as an index to the ravages of squandered 
health never to be regained, and lost happiness never to 
be restored, and where the practised smile is a wretched 
mockery of the misery of the heart, cannot be mistaken. 
There is something in the glimpse she has just caught 
of her young neighbor, and in the sight of the little 
trinkets she has offered in pawn, that seems to have 
awakened in this woman’s mind some slumbering recol- 
lection, and to have changed, for an instant, her whole 
demeanor. Her first hasty impulse was to bend for- 
ward as if to scan more minutely the appearance of her 
half-concealed companions ; her next, on seeing them 
involuntarily shrink from her, to retreat to the back of 
(he box, cover her face with her hands, and burst into 
tears. 

There are strange chords in the human heart, which 
will lie dormant through years of depravity and wicked- 
ness, but which will vibrate at last to some slight cir 
17 


VOL. I. 


258 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


cumstance apparently trivial in itself, but connected by 
some undefined and indistinct association, with past days 
that can never be recalled, and with bitter recollections 
from which the most degraded creature in existence 
cacnot escape. 

There has been another spectator, in the person of a 
woman in the common shop ; the lowest of the low ; 
dirty, unbonneted, flaunting, and slovenly. Her curiosity 
was at first attracted by the little she could see of the 
group ; then her attention. The half intoxicated leer 
changed to an expression of something like interest, and 
a feeling similar to that we have described, appeared for 
a moment, and only a moment, to extend itself even to 
her bosom. 

Who shall say how soon these women may change 
places ? The last has but two more stages — the hos- 
pital and the grave. How many females situated as her 
two companions are, and as she may have been once, 
have terminated the same wretched course, in the same- 
wretched manner. One is already tracing her footsteps 
with frightful rapidity. How soon may the other follow 
her example ! How many have done the same ! 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

CRIMINAL COURTS. 

W e shall never forget the mingled feelings of awe and 
respect with which we used to gaze on the exterior of 
Newgate in our schoolboy days. How dreadful its rough 


CRIMINAL COURTS. 


259 


heavy walls, and low massive doors, appeared to us — - 
the latter looking as if they were made for the express 
purpose of letting people in, and never letting them out 
again. Then the fetters over the debtors’ door, which 
we used to think were a bond fide set of irons, just hung 
up there for convenience sake, ready to be taken down 
at a moment’s notice, and riveted on the limbs of some 
refractory felon ! We were never tired of wondering 
how the hackney-coachmen on the opposite stand conk! 
c ut jokes in the presence of such horrors, and drink pots 
of half-and-half so near the last drop. 

Often have we strayed here, in sessions time, to catch 
a glimpse of the whipping-place, and that dark building 
on one side of the yard, in which is kept the gibbet with 
all its dreadful apparatus, and on the door of which we 
half expected to see a brass plate, with the inscription 

Mr. Ketch ; ” for we never imagined that the distin- 
guished functionary could by possibility live anywhere 
else! The days of these childish dreams have passed 
away, and with them many other boyish ideas of a gayer 
nature. But we still retain so much of our original feel- 
ing, that to this hour we never pass the building without 
something like a shudder. 

What London pedestrian is there who has not, at some 
time or other, cast a hurried glance through the wicket 
at which prisoners are admitted into this gloomy man- 
sion, and surveyed the few objects he could discern, with 
an indescribable feeling of curiosity ? The thick door, 
plated with iron and mounted with spikes, just low 
enough to enable you to see, leaning over them, an ill- 
looking fellow, in a broad-brimmed hat, belcher handker- 
chief and top-boots : with a brown coat, something be- 
tween a great-coat and a u sporting ” jacket, on his back f 


260 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


and an immense key in his left hand. Perhaps you are 
lucky enough to pass, just as the gate is being opened ; 
then, you see on the other side of the lodge, another 
gate, the image of its predecessor, and two or three more 
turnkeys, who look like multiplications of the first one, 
seated round a fire which just lights up the whitewashed 
apartment sufficiently to enable you to catch a hasty 
glimpse of these different objects. We have a great 
respect for Mrs. Fry, but she certainly ought to have 
written more romances than Mrs. Radcliffe. 

We were walking leisurely down the Old Bailey, some 
time ago, when, as we passed this identical gate, it was 
opened by the officiating turnkey. We turned quickly 
round, as a matter of course, and saw tw r o persons de- 
scending the steps. We could not help stopping and 
observing them. 

They were an elderly woman of decent appearance, 
though evidently poor, and a boy of about fourteen or 
fifteen. The woman was crying bitterly ; she carried a 
small bundle in her hand, and the boy followed at a short 
distance behind her. Their little history was obvious. 
The boy was her son, to whose early comfort she had 
perhaps sacrificed her own — for whose sake she had 
borne misery without repining, and poverty without a 
murmur — looking steadily forward to the time, when he 
who had so long witnessed her struggles for himself, 
might be enabled to make some exertions for their joint 
support. He had formed dissolute connections ; idleness 
had led to crime ; and he had been committed to take his 
trial for some petty theft. He had been long in prison, 
and, after receiving some trifling additional punishment, 
had been ordered to be discharged that morning. It was 
his first offence, and his poor old mother, still hoping to 


CRIMINAL COURTS. 


261 


reclaim him, had been waiting at the gate to implore him 
to return home. 

We cannot forget the boy; he descended the steps with 
a dogged look, shaking his head with an air of bravado 
and obstinate determination. They walked a few paces, 
and paused. The woman put her hand upon his shoulder 
in an agony of entreaty, and the boy sullenly raised his 
head as if in refusal. It was a brilliant morning, and 
every object looked fresh and happy in the broad, gay 
sunlight ; he gazed round him for a few moments, be- 
wildered with the brightness of the scene, for it was long 
since he had beheld anything save the gloomy walls of a 
prison. Perhaps the wretchedness of his mother made 
some impression on the boy’s heart ; perhaps some unde- 
fined recollection of the time when he was a happy child, 
and she his only friend, and best companion, crowded on 
him — he burst into tears ; and covering his face with 
one hand, and hurriedly placing the other in his mother’s, 
walked away with her. 

Curiosity has occasionally led us into both Courts at 
the Old Bailey. Nothing is so likely to strike the per- 
son who enters them for the first time, as the calm indif- 
ference with which the proceedings are conducted ; every 
trial seems a mere matter of business. There is a great 
deal of form, but no compassion ; considerable interest, 
but no sympathy. Take the Old Court for example. 
There sit the Judges, with whose great dignity every- 
body is acquainted, and of whom therefore we need say 
no more. Then, there is the Lord Mayor in the centre, 
looking as cool as a Lord Mayor can look, with an im- 
mense bouquet before him, and habited in all the splendor 
of his office. Then, there are the Sheriffs, who are 
almost as dignified as the Lord Mayor himself ; and the 


262 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Barristers, who are quite dignified enough in their own 
opinion ; and the spectators, who having paid for their 
admission, look upon the whole scene as if it were got up 
especially for their amusement. Look upon the whole 
group in the body of the Court — some wholly engrossed 
in the morning papers, others carelessly conversing in 
low whispers, and others, again, quietly dozing away an 
hour — and you can scarcely believe that the result of 
the trial is a matter of life or death to one wretched 
being present. But turn your eyes to the dock ; watch 
the prisoner attentively for a few moments ; and the fact 
is before you, in all its painful reality. Mark how rest- 
lessly he has been engaged for the last ten minutes, in 
forming all sorts of fantastic figures with the herbs which 
are strewed upon the ledge before him ; observe the 
ashy paleness of his face when a particular witness ap- 
pears, and how he changes his position and wipes his 
clammy forehead, and feverish hands, when the case for 
the prosecution is closed, as if it were a relief to him to 
feel that the jury knew the worst. 

The defence is concluded ; the judge proceeds to sum 
up the evidence ; and the prisoner watches the counte- 
nances of the jury, as a dying man, clinging to life to the 
very last, vainly looks in the face of his physician for a 
slight ray of hope. They turn round to consult ; you 
can almost hear the man’s heart beat, as he bites the 
stalk of rosemary, with a desperate effort to appear com- 
posed. They resume their places — a dead silence pre- 
vails as the foreman delivers in the verdict — “ Guilty ! 51 
A shriek bursts from a female in the gallery ; the pris- 
oner casts one look at the quarter from whence the noise 
proceeded ; and is immediately hurried from the dock by 
the jailer. The clerk directs one of the officers of the 


CRIMINAL COURTS. 


263 


court to “take the woman out,” and fresh business is pro* 
ceeded with, as if nothing had occurred. 

No imaginary contrast to a case like this, could be as 
complete as that which is constantly presented in the 
New Court, the gravity of which is frequently disturbed 
in no small degree, by the cunning and pertinacity of 
juvenile offenders. A boy of thirteen is tried, say for 
picking the pocket of some subject of her Majesty, and 
the offence is about as clearly proved as an offence can 
be. He is called upon for his defence, and contents him- 
self with a little declamation about the jurymen and his 
country — asserts that all the witnesses have committed 
perjury, and hints that the police force generally, have 
entered into a conspiracy “ again ” him. However prob- 
able this statement may be, it fails to convince the 
Court, and some such scene as the following then takes 
place : — 

Court : Have you any witnesses to speak to your 
character, boy ? 

Boy : Yes, my Lord ; fifteen gen’lm’n is a-vaten out- 
side, and vos a-vaten all day yesterday, vich they told 
me the night afore my trial vos a-comin’ on. 

Court : Inquire for these witnesses. 

Here, a stout beadle runs out, and vociferates for the 
witnesses at the very top of his voice ; for you hear his 
cry grow fainter and fainter as he descends the steps into 
the court-yard below. After an absence of five minutes, 
he returns, very warm and hoarse, and informs the Court 
of what it knew perfectly well before — namely, that 
there are no such witnesses in attendance. Hereupon 
the boy sets up a most awful howling ; screws the lower 
part of the palms of his hands into the corners of his 
eyes ; and endeavors to look the picture of injured inno- 


264 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


cence. The jury at once find him “guilty,” and his 
endeavors to squeeze out a tear or two are redoubled. 
The governor of the jail then states, in reply to an 
inquiry from the bench, that the prisoner has been under 
his care twice before. This the urchin resolutely denies 
in some such terms as — “ S’elp me, gen’lm’n, I never 
vos in trouble afore — indeed, my Lord, I never vos. 
It s all a-howen to my having a twin brother, vich has 
wrongfully got into trouble, and vich is so exactly like 
me, that no vun ever knows the difference atween us.” 

This representation, like the defence, fails in producing 
the desired effect, and the boy is sentenced, perhaps, to 
seven years’ transportation. Finding it impossible to 
excite compassion, he gives vent to his feelings in an 
imprecation bearing reference to the eyes of “ old big 
vig ! ” and as he declines to take the trouble of walking 
from the dock, is forthwith carried out, congratulating 
himself on having succeeded in giving everybody as 
much trouble as possible. 


CHAPTER XXV 

A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 

“ The force of habit ” is a trite phrase in everybody’s 
mouth ; and it is not a little remarkable that those who 
use it most as applied to others, unconsciously afford in 
their own persons singular examples of the power which 
habit and custom exercise over the minds of men, and 
of the little reflection they are apt to bestow on subjects I 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


265 


with which every day’s experience has rendered them 
familiar. If Bedlam could be suddenly removed like 
another Aladdin’s palace, and set down on the space now 
occupied by Newgate, scarcely one man out of a hun- 
dred, whose road to business every morning lies through 
Newgate Street, or the Old Bailey, would pass the build- 
ing without bestowing a hasty glance on its small, grated 
windows, and a transient thought upon the condition of 
the unhappy beings immured in its dismal cells ; and yet 
these same men, day by day, and hour by hour, pass and 
repass this gloomy depository of the guilt and misery of 
London, in one perpetual stream of life and bustle, utterly 
unmindful of the throng of wretched creatures pent up 
within it — nay, not even knowing, or if they do, not 
heeding, the fact, that as they pass one particular angle 
of the massive wall with a light laugh or a merry whistle, 
they stand within one yard of a fellow-creature, bound 
and helpless, whose hours are numbered, from whom the 
last feeble ray of hope has fled forever, and whose miser- 
able career will shortly terminate in a violent and shame- 
ful death. Contact with death even in its least terrible 
shape, is solemn and appalling. How much more awful 
is it to reflect on this near vicinity to the dying — to 
men in full health and vigor, in the flower of youth or 
the prime of life, with all their faculties and perceptions 
as acute and perfect as your own ; but dying, neverthe- 
less — dying as surely — with the hand of death im- 
printed upon them as indelibly — as if mortal disease 
had wasted their frames to shadows, and corruption had 
already begun ! 

It was with some such thoughts as these that we de- 
termined, not many weeks since, to visit the interior of 
Newgate — in an amateur capacity, of course; and, having 


266 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


carried our intention into effect, we proceed to lay its re* 
suits before our readers, in the hope — founded more upon 
the nature of the subject, than on any presumptuous con- 
fidence in our own descriptive powers — that this paper 
may not be found wholly devoid of interest. We have 
only to premise, that we do not intend to fatigue the 
reader with any statistical accounts of the prison ; they 
will be found at length in numerous reports of numerous 
committees, and a variety of authorities of equal weight. 
We took no notes, made no memoranda, measured none 
of the yards, ascertained the exact number of inches in 
no particular room : are unable even to report of how 
many apartments the jail is composed. 

We saw the prison, and saw the prisoners ; and what 
we did see, and what we thought, we will tell at once in 
our own way. 

Having delivered our credentials to the servant who 
answered our knock at the door of the governor’s house, 
we were ushered into the “ office ; ” a little room, on the 
right-hand side as you enter, with tw^o windows looking 
into the Old Bailey : fitted up like an ordinary attorney’s 
office, or merchant’s counting-house, with the usual fix- 
tures — a wainscoted partition, a shelf or two, a desk, a 
couple of stools, a pair of clerks, an almanac, a clock, and 
a few maps. After a little delay, occasioned by sending 
into the interior of the prison for the officer whose duty 
it was to conduct us, that functionary arrived ; a respect- 
able-looking man of about two or three and fifty, in a 
broad-brimmed hat, and full suit of black, who, but for 
his keys, would have looked quite as much like a clergy- 
man as a turnkey. We were disappointed ; he had not 
even top-boots on. Following our conductor by a door 
opposite to that at which we had entered, we arrived at 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


267 


a small room, without any other furniture than a little 
desk, with a book for visitors’ autographs, and a shelf, on 
which were a few boxes for papers, and casts of the 
heads and faces of the two notorious murderers, Bishop 
and Williams ; the former, in particular, exhibiting a 
style of head and set of features, which might have 
afforded sufficient moral grounds for his instant execu- 
tion at any time, even had there been no other evidence 
against him. Leaving this room also, by an opposite 
door, we found ourself in the lodge which opens on the 
Old Bailey; one side of which is plentifully garnished 
with a choice collection of heavy sets of irons, including 
those worn by the redoubtable Jack Sheppard — genuine; 
and those said to have been graced by the sturdy limbs 
of the no less celebrated Dick Turpin — doubtful. From 
this lodge, a heavy oaken gate, bound with iron, studded 
with nails of the same material, and guarded by another 
turnkey, opens on a few steps, if we remember right, 
which terminate in a narrow and dismal stone passage, 
running parallel with the Old Bailey, and leading to the 
different yards, through a number of tortuous and intri- 
cate windings, guarded in their turn by huge gates and 
gratings, whose appearance is sufficient to dispel at once 
the slightest hope of escape that any new comer may 
have entertained ; and the very recollection of which, on 
eventually traversing the place again, involves one in a 
maze of confusion. 

It is necessary to explain here, that the buildings in 
the prison, or in other words the different wards foim 
a square, of which the four sides abut respectively on the 
Old Bailey, the old College of Physicians (now forming 
a part of Newgate Market), the Sessions House, and 
| Newgate Street. The intermediate space is divided into 


268 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


several paved yards, in which the prisoners take such 
air and exercise as can be had in such a place. These 
yards, with the exception of that in which prisoners 
under sentence of death are confined (of which we shall 
presently give a more detailed description), run parallel 
with Newgate Street, and consequently from the Old 
Bailey, as it were, to Newgate Market. The women’s 
side is in the right wing of the prison nearest the Ses- 
sions House. As we were introduced into this part 
of the building first, we will adopt the same order, and 
introduce our readers to it also. 

Turning to the right, then, down the passage to which 
we just now adverted, omitting any mention of inter- 
vening gates — for if we noticed every gate that was 
unlocked for us to pass through, and locked again as 
soon as we had passed, we should require a gate at every 
comma — we came to a door composed of thick bars of 
wood, through w r hich were discernible, passing to and fro 
in a narrow yard, some twenty women : the majority of 
whom, however, as soon as they were aware of the pres- 
ence of strangers, retreated to their w r ards. One side 
of this yard is railed off at a considerable distance, and 
formed into a kind of iron cage, about five feet ten inches 
in height, roofed at the top, and defended in front by iron 
bars, from which the friends of the female prisoners com- 
municate with them. In one corner of this singular- 
looking den, was a yellow, haggard, decrepit old woman 
in a tattered gown that had once been black, and the 
remains of an old straw bonnet, with faded ribbon of the 
same hue, in earnest conversation with a young girl — a 
prisoner, of course — of about two-and-twenty. It ia 
impossible to imagine a more poverty stricken object, oi 
a creature so borne down in soul and body, by excess o* 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


269 


misery and destitution as the old woman. The girl was 
a good-looking robust female, with a profusion of hair 
streaming about in the wind — for she had no bonnet on 
— and a man’s silk pocket-handkerchief loosely thrown 
over a most ample pair of shoulders. The old woman 
was talking in that low, stifled tone of voice which tells 
so forcibly of mental anguish ; and every now and then 
burst into an irrepressible sharp, abrupt cry of grief, the 
most distressing sound that ears can hear. The girl was 
perfectly unmoved. Hardened beyond all hope of re- 
demption, she listened doggedly to her mother’s entrea- 
ties, whatever they were : and, beyond inquiring after 
“ Jem,” and eagerly catching at the few halfpence her 
miserable parent had brought her, took no more apparent 
interest in the conversation than the most unconcerned 
spectators. Heaven knows there were enough of them, 
in the persons of the other prisoners in the yard, who 
were no more concerned by what was passing before 
their eyes, and within their hearing, than if they were 
blind and deaf. Why should they be? Inside the 
prison, and out, such scenes were too familiar to them, 
to excite even a passing thought, unless of ridicule or 
contempt for feelings which they had long since for- 
gotten. 

A little farther on, a squalid-looking woman in a slov- 
enly thick-bordered cap, with her arms muffled in a large 
red shawl, the fringed ends of which straggled nearly to 
\he bottom of a dirty white apron, was communicating 
some instructions to her visitor — her daughter evidently. 
The girl was thinly clad, and shaking with the cold. 
Some ordinary word of recognition passed between her 
and her mother when she appeared at the grating, but 
neither hope, condolence, regret, nor affection was ex* 


270 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


pressed on either side. The mother whispered her in- 
structions, and the girl received them with her pinched- 
up half-starved features twisted into an expression of 
careful cunning. It was some scheme for the woman’s 
defence that she was disclosing, perhaps ; and a sullen 
smile came over the girl’s face for an instant, as if she 
were pleased: not so much at the probability of her 
mother’s liberation, as at the chance of her “ getting off” 
in spite of her prosecutors. The dialogue was soon con- 
cluded ; and with the same careless indifference with 
which they had approached each other, the mother 
turned towards the inner end of the yard, and the girl 
to the gate at which she had entered. 

The girl belonged to a class — unhappily but too ex- 
tensive — the very existence of which should make men’s 
hearts bleed. Barely past her childhood, it required but 
a glance to discover that she was one of those children, 
born and bred in neglect and vice, who have never 
known what childhood is : who have never been taught 
to love and court a parent’s smile, or to dread a parent’s 
frown. The thousand nameless endearments of child- 
hood, its gayety and its innocence, are alike unknown to 
them. They have entered at once upon the stern reali- 
ties and miseries of life, and to their better nature it is 
almost hopeless to appeal in after-times, by any of the 
references which will awaken, if it be only for a moment, 
some good feeling in ordinary bosoms, however 'corrupt 
they may have become. Talk to them of parental solici- 
tude. the happy days of childhood, and the merry games 
of infancy ! Tell them of hunger and the streets, beg- 
gary and stripes, the gin-shop, the station-house, and the 
pawnbroker’s, and they will understand you. 

Two or three women were standing at different parts 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


271 


of the grating, conversing with their friends, but a very 
large proportion of the prisoners appeared to have no 
friends at all, beyond such of their old companions as 
might happen to be within the walls. So, passing hastily 
down the yard, and pausing only for an instant to notice 
the littl° incidents we have just recorded, we were con- 
ducted up a clean and well-lighted flight of stone stairs 
to one of the wards. There are several in this part of 
the building, but a description of one is a description of 
the whole. 

It was a spacious, bare, whitewashed apartment, lighted 
of course, by windows looking into the interior of the 
prison, but far more light and airy than one could reason- 
ably expect to find in such a situation. There was a 
large fire with a deal table before it, round which ten or 
a dozen women were seated on wooden forms at dinner. 
Along both sides of the room ran a shelf ; below it, at 
regular intervals, a row of large hooks were fixed in the 
wall, on each of which was hung the sleeping-mat of a 
prisoner: her rug and blanket being folded up, and 
placed on the shelf above. At night, these mats are 
placed on the floor, each beneath the hook on which it 
hangs during the day ; and the ward is thus made to 
answer the purposes both of a day-room and sleeping 
apartment. Over the fireplace was a large sheet of 
pasteboard, on which were displayed a variety of texts 
from Scripture, which were also scattered about the 
room in scraps about the size and shape of the copy- 
slips which are used in schools. On the table was a 
sufficient provision of a kind of stewed beef and brown 
bread, in pewter dishes, which are kept perfectly bright, 
and displayed on shelves in great order and regularity 
when they are not in use. 


272 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


The women rose hastily, on our entrance, and retired 
in a hurried manner to either side of the fireplace. They 
were all cleanly — many of them decently — attired, 
and there was nothing peculiar, either in their appear- 
ance or demeanor. One or two resumed the needlework 
which they had probably laid aside at the commencement 
of their meal ; others gazed at the visitors with listless 
curiosity ; and a few retired behind their companions to 
the very end of the room, as if desirous to avoid even 
the casual observation of the strangers. Some old Irish 
women, both in this and other wards, to whom the thing 
was no novelty, appeared perfectly indifferent to our 
presence, and remained standing close to the seats from 
which they had just risen ; but the general feeling among 
the females seemed to be one of uneasiness during the 
period of our stay among them : which was very brief. 
Not a word was uttered during the time of our remain- 
ing, unless, indeed, by the wardswoman in reply to some 
question which we put to the turnkey who accompanied 
us. In every ward on the female side, a wardswoman 
is appointed to preserve order, and a similar regulation 
is adopted among the males. The wardsmen and wards- 
women are all prisoners, selected for good conduct. They 
alone are allowed the privilege of sleeping on bedsteads ; 
a small stump bedstead being placed in every ward for 
that purpose. On both sides of the jail is a small 
receiving-room, to which prisoners are conducted on their 
first reception, and whence they cannot be removed until 
they have been examined by the surgeon of the prison.* 

* The regulations of the prison relative to the confinement of pris- 
oners during the day, their sleeping at night, their taking their meals 
and other matters of jail economy, have been all altered — greatly for 
the better — since this sketch was first published. 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


273 


Retracing our steps to the dismal passage in which we 
found ourselves at first (and which, by the by, contains 
three or four dark cells for the accommodation of refrac- 
tory prisoners), we were led through a narrow yard to 
the “ school ” — a portion of the prison set apart for 
boys under fourteen years of age. In a tolerable-sized 
room, in which were writing-materials and some copy- 
books, was the schoolmaster, with a couple of his pupils ; 
the remainder having been fetched from an adjoining 
apartment, the whole were drawn up in line for our 
inspection. There were fourteen of them in all, some 
with shoes, some without ; some in pinafores without 
jackets, others in jackets without pinafores, and one in 
scarce anything at all. The whole number, without an 
exception we believe, had been committed for trial on 
charges of pocket-picking ; and fourteen such terrible 
little faces we never beheld. — There was not one re- 
deeming feature among them — not a glance of honesty 
— not a wink expressive of anything but the gallows 
and the hulks, in the whole collection. As to anything 
like shame or contrition, that was entirely out of the 
question. They were evidently quite gratified at being 
thought worth the trouble of looking at ; their idea 
appeared to be, that we had come to see* Newgate as a 
grand affair, and that they were an indispensable part of 
the show ; and every boy as he “ fell in ” to the line, 
actually seemed as pleased and important as if he had 
done something excessively meritorious in getting there 
at all. We never looked upon a more disagreeable sight, 
because we never saw fourteen such hopeless creatures 
of neglect, before. 

On either side of the school-yard is a yard for men, in 
one of which — that towards Newgate Street — prison- 
18 


VOL. I. 


274 


SKETCHES BY .BOZ. 


ers of the more respectable class are confined. Of the 
other, we have little description to offer, as the different 
wards necessarily partake of the same character. They 
are provided, like the wards on the women’s side, with 
mats and rugs, which are disposed of in the same man- 
ner during the day ; the only very striking difference 
between their appearance and that of the wards inhab- 
ited by the females", is the utter absence of any employ- 
ment. Huddled together on two opposite forms, by the 
fireside, sit twenty men perhaps ; here, a boy in livery ; 
there, a man in a rough great-coat and top-boots ; far- 
ther on, a desperate-looking fellow in his shirt sleeves, 
with an old Scotch cap upon his shaggy head ; near him 
again a tall ruffian in a smock-frock ; next to him, a 
miserable being of distressed appearance, with his head 
resting on his hand ; — all alike in one respect, all idle 
and listless. When they do leave the fire, sauntering 
moodily about, lounging in the window, or leaning against 
the wall, vacantly swinging their bodies to and fro. With 
the exception of a man reading an old newspaper, in two 
or three instances, this was the case in every ward we 
entered. 

The only communication these men have with their 
friends, is through two close iron gratings, with an inter- 
mediate space of about a yard in width between the two, 
so that nothing can be handed across, nor can the pris- 
oner have any communication by touch with the person 
who visits him. The married men have a separate 
grating, at which to see their wives, but its onstruction 
is the same. 

The prison chapel is situated at the back of the go\ • 
ernor’s house : the latter having no windows looking into 
the interior of the prison. Whether the associations 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


275 


connected with the place — the knowledge that here a 
portion of the burial service is, on some dreadful occa- 
sions, performed over the quick and not upon the dead 
— cast over it a still more gloomy and sombre air than 
art has imparted to it, we know not, but its appearance 
is very striking. There is something in a silent and de- 
serted place of worship, solemn and impressive at any 
time ; and the very dissimilarity of this one from any we 
have been accustomed to, only enhances the impression. 
The meanness of its appointments — the bare and scanty 
pulpit, with the paltry painted pillars on either side — • 
the women’s gallery with its great heavy curtain — the 
men’s with its unpainted benches and dingy front — the 
tottering little table at the altar, with the commandments 
on the wall above it, scarcely legible through lack of 
paint, and dust, and damp — so unlike the velvet and 
gilding, the marble and wood, of a modern church — are 
strange and striking. There is one object, too, which 
rivets the attention and fascinates the gaze, and from 
which we may turn horror-stricken in vain, for the recol- 
lection of it will haunt us, waking and sleeping, for a 
long time afterwards. Immediately below the reading- 
desk, on the floor of the chapel, and forming the most 
conspicuous object in its little area, is the condemned 
few ; a hug** black pen, in which the wretched people, 
who are singled out for death, are placed, on the Sunday 
preceding their execution, in sight of all their fellow- 
prisoners, from many of whom they may have been 
separated but a week before, to hear prayers for their 
own souls, to join in the responses of their own burial 
service, and to listen to an address, warning their recent 
companions to take example by their fate, and urging 
themselves, while there is yet time — nearly four-and- 


276 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


twenty hours —to “turn, and flee from the wrath to 
come ! ” Imagine what have been the feelings of the 
men whom that fearful pew has enclosed, and of whom, 
between the gallows and the knife, no mortal remnant 
may now remain ! Think of the hopeless clinging to life 
to the last, and the wild despair, far exceeding in anguish 
the felon’s death itself, by which they have heard the 
certainty of their speedy transmission to another world, 
with all their crimes upon their heads, rung into their 
ears by the officiating clergyman ! 

At one time — and at no distant period either — the 
coffins of the men about to be executed, were placed in 
that pew, upon the seat by their side, during the whole 
service. It may seem incredible, but it is true. Let us 
hope that the increased spirit of civilization and human- 
ity which abolished this frightful and degrading custom, 
may extend itself to other usages equally barbarous ; 
usages which have not even the plea of utility in their 
defence, as every year’s experience has shown them to 
be more and more inefficacious. 

Leaving the chapel, descending to the passage so fre- 
quently alluded to, and crossing the yard before noticed 
as being allotted to prisoners of a more respectable de- 
scription than the generality of men confined here, the 
visitor arrives at a thick iron gate of great size and 
strength. Having been admitted through it by the turn- 
key on duty, he turns sharp round to the left, and pauses 
before another gate ; and, having passed this last barrier, 
he stands in the most terrible part of this gloomy build- 
ing — the condemned ward. 

The press-yard, well known by name to newspaper 
readers, from its frequent mention in accounts of execu- 
tions, is at the corner of the building, and next to the 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


277 


ordinary’s house, in Newgate Street: running from New- 
gate Street, towards the centre of the prison, parallel 
with Newgate Market. It is a long, narrow court, of 
which a portion of the w^all in Newgate Street forms one 
end, and the gate the other. At the upper end, on the 
left-hand — that is, adjoining the wall in Newgate Street 
— is a cistern of water, and at the bottom a double grat- 
ing (of which the gate itself forms a part) similar to 
that before described. Through these grates the pris- 
oners are allowed to see their friends ; a turnkey always 
remaining in the vacant space between, during the whole 
interview. Immediately on the right as you enter, is a 
building containing the press-room, day-room, and cells ; 
the yard is on every side surrounded by lofty walls 
guarded by chevciux de frise ; and the whole is under 
the constant inspection of vigilant and experienced turn- 
keys. 

In the first apartment into which we were conducted — 
which was at the top of a staircase, and immediately 
over the press-room — were five-and-twenty or thirty 
prisoners, all under sentence of death, awaiting the re- 
sult of the recorder’s report — men of all ages and ap- 
pearances, from a hardened old offender with swarthy 
face and grizzly beard of three days’ growth, to a hand- 
some boy, not fourteen years old, and of singularly youth- 
ful appearance even for that age, who had been con- 
demned for burglary. There was nothing remarkable in 
the appearance of these prisoners. One or two decently 
dressed men were brooding with a dejected air over the 
6re ; several little groups of two or three had been en- 
gaged in conversation at the upper end of *he room, or 
in the windows ; and the remainder were crowded round 
a young man seated at a table, who appeared to be 


278 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


engaged m teaching the younger ones to write. The 
room was large, airy, and clean. There was very little 
anxiety or mental suffering depicted in the countenance 
of any of the men ; — they had all been sentenced to 
death, it is true, and the recorder's report had not yet 
been made ; but, we question whether there was a man 
among them, notwithstanding, who did not know that 
although he had undergone the ceremony, it never was 
intended that his life should be sacrificed. On the table 
lay a Testament, but there were no tokens of its having 
been in recent use. 

In the press-room below, were three men, the nature 
of whose offence rendered it necessary to separate them, 
even from their companions in guilt. It is a long, sombre 
room, with two windows sunk into the stone wall, and 
here the wretched men are pinioned on the morning of 
their execution, before moving towards the scaffold. The 
fate of one of these prisoners was uncertain ; some miti- 
gatory circumstances having come to light since his trial, 
which had been humanely represented in the proper 
quarter. The other two had nothing to expect from the 
mercy of the crown ; their doom was sealed ; no plea 
could be urged in extenuation of their crime, and they 
well knew that for them there was no hope in this wrnrld. 
“ The two short ones,” the turnkey whispered, “ were 
dead men.” 

The man to whom we have alluded as entertaining 
some hopes of escape, was lounging at the greatest dis- 
tance he could place between himself and his compan- 
ions, in the window nearest to the door. He was prob- 
ably aware of our approach, and had assumed an air of 
courageous indifference ; his face w r as purposely averted 
towards the window, and he stirred not an inch while we 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


279 


were present. The other two men were at the upper 
end of the room. One of them, who was imperfectly 
seen in the dim light, had his back towards us, and was 
stooping over the fire, with his right arm on the mantel- 
piece, and his head sunk upon it. The other, was lean- 
ing on the sill of the farthest window. The light fell 
full upon him, and communicated to his pale, haggard 
face, and disordered air, an appearance which, at that 
distance, was ghastly. His cheek rested upon his hand ; 
and, with his face a little raised, and his eyes widely 
staring before him, he seemed to be unconsciously intent 
on counting the chinks in the opposite wall. We passed 
this room again afterwards. The first man was pacing 
up and down the court with a firm military step — he 
had been a soldier in the foot-guards — and a cloth cap 
jauntily thrown on one side of his head. He bowed re- 
spectfully to our conductor, and the salute was returned. 
The other two still remained in the positions we have 
described, and were as motionless as statues.* 

A few paces up the yard, and forming a continuation 
of the building, in which are the two rooms we have just 
quitted, lie the condemned cells. The entrance is by a 
narrow and obscure staircase leading to a dark passage, 
in which a charcoal stove casts a lurid tint over the 
objects in its immediate vicinity, and diffuses something 
like warmth around. From the left-hand side of this pas- 
sage, the massive door of every cell on the story opens ; 
and from it alone can they be approached. There are 
three of these passages, and three of these ranges of 
cells, one above the other ; but in size, furniture, and 
appearance, they are all precisely alike. Prior to the 

* These two men were executed shortly afterwards. The other was 
respited during her majesty’s pleasure. 


280 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


recorder’s report being made, all the prisoners under 
sentence of death are removed from the day-room at five 
o’clock in the afternoon, and locked up in these cells, 
where they are allowed a candle until ten o’clock ; and 
here they remain until seven next morning. When the 
warrant for a prisoner’s execution arrives, he is removed 
to the cells and confined in one of them until he leaves 
it for the scaffold. He is at liberty to walk in the yard ; 
but, both in his walks and in his cell, he is constantly 
attended by a turnkey who never leaves him on any 
pretence. 

We entered the first cell. It was a stone dungeon, 
eight feet long by six wide, with a bench at the upper 
end, under which were a common rug, a bible, and prayer- 
book. An iron candlestick was fixed into the wall at 
the side ; and a small high window in the back admitted 
as much air and light as could struggle in between a 
double row of heavy, crossed iron bars. It contained no 
other furniture of any description. 

Conceive the situation of a man, spending his last 
night on earth in this cell. Buoyed up with some vague 
and undefined hope of reprieve, he knew not why — in- 
dulging in some wild and visionary idea of escaping, he 
knew not how — hour after hour of the three preceding 
days allowed him for preparation, has fled with a speed 
which no man living would deem possible, for none but 
this dying man can know. He has wearied his friends 
with entreaties, exhausted the attendants with importuni- 
ties, neglected in his feverish restlessness the timely warn- 
ings of his spiritual consoler ; and, now that the illusion 
is at last dispelled, now that eternity is before him and 
guilt behind, now that his fears of death amount almost 
to madness, and an overwhelming sense of his helpless, 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


281 


hopeless state rushes upon him, he is lost and stupefied 
and has neither thoughts to turn to, nor power to call 
upon, the Almighty Being, from whom alone he can 
seek mercy and forgiveness, and before whom his repent- 
ance can alone avail. 

Hours have glided by, and still he sits upon the same 
stone bench with folded arms, heedless alike of the fast- 
decreasing time before him, and the urgent entreaties of 
the good man at his side. The feeble light is wasting 
gradually, and the deathlike stillness of the street with- 
out, broken only by the rumbling of some passing vehicle 
which echoes mournfully through the empty yards, warns 
him that the night is waning fast away. The deep bell 
of St. Paul’s strikes — one ! He heard it ; it has roused 
him. Seven hours left ! He paces the narrow limits of 
his cell with rapid strides, cold drops ‘of terror starting 
on his forehead, and every muscle of his frame quivering 
with agony. Seven hours ! He suffers himself to be 
led to his seat, mechanically takes the bible which is 
placed in his hand, and tries to read and listen. No : his 
thoughts will wander. The book is torn and soiled by 
use — and like the book he read his lessons in, at school, 
just forty years ago ! He has never bestowed a thought 
upon it, perhaps, since he left it as a child : and yet the 
place, the time, the room — nay, the very boys he played 
with, crowd as vividly before him as if they were scenes 
of yesterday ; and some forgotten phrase, some childish 
word, rings in his ears like the echo of one uttered but a 
minute since. The voice of the clergyman recalls him to 
liimself. He is reading from the sacred book its solemn 
promises of pardon for repentance, and its awful denun- 
ciation of obdurate men. He falls upon his knees and 
clasps his hands to pray. Hush ! what sound was that ? 


282 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


He starts upon his feet. It cannot be two yet. Hark ! 
Two quarters have struck ; — the third — the fourth. It 
is ! Six hours left. Tell him not of repentance ! Six 
hours’ repentance for eight times six years of guilt and 
sin ! He buries his face in his hands, and throws him- 
self on the bench. 

Worn with watching and excitement, he sleeps, and 
the same unsettled state of mind pursues him in his 
dreams. An insupportable load is taken from his breast ; 
he is walking with his wife in a pleasant field, with the 
bright sky above them, and a fresh and boundless pros- 
pect on every side — how different from the stone walls 
of Newgate ! She is looking — not as she did when he 
saw her for the last time in that dreadful place, but as 
she used when he loved her — long, long ago, before 
misery and ill-treatment had altered her looks, and vice 
had changed his nature, and she is leaning upon his arm, 
and looking up into his face with tenderness and affection 
— and he does not strike her now, nor rudely shake her 
from him. And oh ! how glad he is to tell her all he had 
forgotten in that last hurried interview, and to fall on his 
knees before her and fervently beseech her pardon for all 
the unkindness and cruelty that wasted her form and 
broke her heart ! The scene suddenly changes. He is 
on his trial again : there are the judge and jury, and 
prosecutors, and witnesses, just as they were before. 
How full the court is — what a sea of heads — with a 
gallows, too, and a scaffold — and how all those people 
stare at him ! Verdict, “ Guilty.” No matter ; he will 
escape. 

The night is dark and cold, the gates have been left 
open, and in an instant he is in the street, flying from 
the scene of his imprisonment like the wind. The streets 


A VISIT TO NEWGATE. 


283 


are cleared, the open fields are gained and the broad 
wide country lies before him. Onward he dashes in the 
midst of darkness, over hedge and ditch, through mud 
and pool, bounding from spot to spot with a speed and 
lightness, astonishing even to himself. At length he 
pauses ; he must be safe from pursuit now ; he will 
stretch himself on that bank and sleep till sunrise. 

A period of unconsciousness succeeds. , He wakes, cold 
and wretched. The dull gray light of morning is stealing 
into the cell, and falls upon the form of the attendant 
turnkey. Confused by his dreams, he starts from his 
uneasy bed in momentary uncertainty. It is but momen- 
tary. Every object in the narrow cell is too frightfully 
real to admit of doubt or mistake. He is the condemned 
felon again, guilty and despairing ; and in two hours 
more will be dead. 


284 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CHARACTERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE. 

Jt is strange with how little notice, good, bad, or in- 
different, a man may live and die in London. He 
awakens no sympathy in the breast of any single person- 
kis existence is a matter of interest to no one save him- 
self ; he cannot be said to be forgotten when he dies, for 
no one remembered him when he was alive. There is a 
numerous class of people in this 'great metropolis who 
seem not to possess a single friend, and whom nobody 
appears to care for. Urged by imperative necessity in 
the first instance, they have resorted to London in search 
of employment, and the means of subsistence. It is 
hard, we know to break the ties which bind us to our 
homes and friends, and harder still to efface the thousand 
recollections of happy days and old times, which have 
been slumbering in our bosoms for years, and only rush 
upon the mind, to bring before it associations connected 
with the friends we have left, the scenes we have beheld 
too probably for the last time, and the hopes we once 
cherished, but may entertain no more. These men, how- 
ever, happily for themselves, have long forgotten such 
thoughts. Old country friends have died or emigrated ; 
former correspondents have become lost, like themselves, 


THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE. 


285 


in the crowd and turmoil of some busy city ; and they 
have gradually settled down into mere passive creatures 
of habit and endurance. 

We were seated in the enclosure of St. James’s Park 
the other day, when our attention was attracted by a man 
whom we immediately put down in our own mind as one 
of this class. He was a tall, thin, pale person, in a black 
coat, scanty gray trousers, little pinched-up gaiters, and 
brown beaver gloves. He had an umbrella in his hand 
— not for use, for the day was fine — but, evidently, be- 
cause he always carried one to the office in the morning. 
He walked up and down before the little patch of gjrass 
on which the chairs are placed for hire, not as if he were 
doing it for pleasure or recreation, but as if it were a 
matter of compulsion, just as he would walk to the office 
every morning from the back settlements of Islington. It 
was Monday ; he had escaped for four-and-twenty hours 
from the thraldom of the desk ; and was walking here 
for exercise and amusement — perhaps for the first time 
in his life. We were inclined to think he had never had 
a holiday before, and that he did not know what to do 
with himself. Children were playing on the grass ; 
groups of people were loitering about, chatting and 
laughing ; but the man walked steadily up and down, 
unheeding and unheeded, his spare pale face looking as 
if it were ii capable of bearing the expression of curiosity 
or interest. 

There was something in the man’s manner and appear- 
ance which told us, we fancied, his whole life, or rather 
his whole day, for a man of this sort has no variety of 
days. We thought we almost saw the dingy little back 
office into which he walks every morning, hanging his 
hat on the same peg, and placing his legs Hmeath the 


286 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


same desk : first, taking off that black coat which lasts 
the year through, and putting on the one which did duty 
last year, and which he keeps in his desk to save the 
other. There he sits till five o’clock, working on, all day, 
as regularly as the dial over the mantel-piece, whose loud 
ticking is as monotonous as his whole existence : only 
raising his head when some one enters the counting- 
house, or when, in the midst of some difficult calculation, 
he looks up to the ceiling as if there were inspiration in 
the dusty skylight with a green knot in the centre of 
every pane of glass. About five, or half-past, he slowly 
dismounts from his accustomed stool, and again changing 
his coat, proceeds to his usual dining-place, somewhere 
near Bucklersbury. The waiter recites the bill of fare in 
a rather confidential manner — for he is a regular cus- 
tomer — and after inquiring “ What’s in the best cut ? n 
and “ What was up last ? ” he orders a small plate of 
roast beef, with greens, and half a pint of porter. He 
has a small plate to-day, because greens are a penny 
more than potatoes, and he had “ two breads ” yesterday, 
with the additional enormity of “ a cheese ” the day be- 
fore. This important point settled, he hangs up his hat 
— he took it off the moment he sat down — and bespeaks 
the paper after the next gentleman. If he can get it 
while he is at dinner, he eats with much greater zest; 
balancing it against the water-bottle, and eating a bit of 
beef, and reading a line or two, alternately. Exactly at 
fhe minutes before the hour is up, he produces a shilling, 
pays the reckoning, carefully deposits the change in his 
waistcoat-pocket (first deducting a penny for the waiter), 
and returns to the office, from which, if it is not foreign 
post night, he again sallies forth, in about half an hour. 
He then walks home, at his usual pace, to his little back- 


THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE. 


287 


room at Islington, where he has his tea ; perhaps solacing 
himself during the meal with the conversation of his land- 
lady’s little boy, whom he occasionally rewards with a 
penny, for solving problems in simple addition. Some- 
times, there is a letter or two to take up to his employer's, 
in Russell Square ; and then, the wealthy man of busi- 
ness, hearing his voice, calls out from the dining-parlor, — 
“ Come in, Mr. Smith ; ” and Mr. Smith, putting his hat 
at the feet of one of the hall-chairs, walks timidly in, 
and being condescendingly desired to sit down, carefully 
tucks his legs under his chair, and sits at a considerable 
distance from the table while he drinks the glass of sherry 
which is poured out for him by the eldest boy, and after 
drinking which, he backs and slides out of the room, in a 
state of nervous agitation from which he does not per- 
fectly recover, until he finds himself once more in the 
Islington Road. Poor, harmless creatures such men are ; 
contented but not happy ; broken-spirited and humbled, 
they may feel no pain, but they never know pleasure. 

Compare these men with another class of beings who, 
like them, have neither friend nor companion, but whose 
position in society is the result of their own choice. 
These are generally old fellows with white heads and 
red faces, addicted to port wine and Hessian boots, who 
from some cause, real or imaginary — generally the for- 
mer, the excellent reason being that they are rich, and 
their relations poor — grow suspicious of everybody, and 
do the misanthropical in chambers, taking great delight 
in thinking themselves unhappy, and making everybody 
they come near, miserable. You may see such men as 
these, anywhere ; you will know them at coffee-houses by 
their discontented exclamations and the luxury of their 
dinners ; at theatres, by their always sitting in the same 


288 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


place and looking with a jaundiced eye on all the young 
people near them ; at church, by the pomposity with 
which they enter, and the loud tone in which they repeat 
the responses ; at parties, by their getting cross at whist 
and hating music. An old fellow of this kind will have 
his chambers splendidly furnished, and collect books, 
plate, and pictures about him in profusion ; not so much 
for his own gratification, as to be superior to those who 
have the desire, but not the means, to compete with him. 
He belongs to two or three clubs, and is envied, and flat- 
tered, and hated by the members of them all. Sometimes 
he will be appealed to by a poor relation — a married 
nephew perhaps — for some little assistance : and then 
he will declaim with honest indignation on the improvi- 
dence of young married people, the worthlessness of a 
wife, the insolence of having a family, the atrocity of get- 
ting into debt with a hundred and twenty-five pounds a- 
year, and other unpardonable crimes ; winding up his 
exhortations with a complacent review of his own con- 
duct, and a delicate allusion to parochial relief. He dies, 
some day after dinner, of apoplexy, having bequeathed 
his property to a Public Society, and the Institution 
erects a tablet to his memory, expressive of their admi- 
ration of his Christian conduct in this world, and their 
comfortable conviction of his happiness in the next. 

But, next to our very particular friends, hackney- 
coachmen, cabmen, and cads, whom we admire in pro- 
portion to the extent of their cool impudence and perfect 
self-possession, there is no class of people who amuse us 
more than London apprentices. They are no longer an 
organized body, bound down by solemn compact to terrify 
his majesty’s subjects whenever it pleases them to take 
offence in their heads and staves in tlnir hands. They 


THOUGHTS ABOUT PEOPLE. 


289 


are only bound, now, by indentures; and, as to their 
valor, it is easily restrained by the wholesome dread of 
the New Police, and a perspective view of a damp sta- 
tion-house, terminating in a police-office and a reprimand. 
They are still, however, a peculiar class, and not the less 
pleasant for being inoffensive. Can any one fail to have 
noticed them in the streets on Sunday ? And were there 
ever such harmless efforts at the grand and magnificent 
as the young fellows display! We walked down the 
Strand, a Sunday or two ago, behind a little group ; and 
they furnished food for our amusement the whole way. 
They had come out of some part of the city ; it was be- 
tween three and four o’clock in the afternoon ; and they 
were on their way to the Park. There were four ot 
them, all arm-in-arm, with white kid gloves like so many 
bridegrooms, light trousers of unprecedented patterns, and 
mats for which the English language has yet no name — 
a kind of cross between a great-coat and a surtout, with 
the collar of the one, the skirts of the other, and pockets 
peculiar to themselves. 

Each of the gentlemen carried a thick stick, with a 
large tassel at the top, which he occasionally twirled 
gracefully round ; and the whole four, by way of looking 
easy and unconcerned, were walking with a paralytic 
swagger irresistibly ludicrous. One of the party had a 
watch about the size and shape of a reasonable Ribstone 
pippin, jammed into his waistcoat-pocket, which he care- 
fully compared with the clocks at St. Clement’s and the 
New Church, the illuminated clock at Exeter ’Change, 
th 3 clock of St. Martin’s Church, and the clock of the 
Horse Guards. When they at last arrived in St. James’s 
Park, the member of the party who had the best-made 
boots on, hired a second chair expressly for his feet, and 

VOL. I. 19 


290 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


flung himself on this twopennyworth of sylvan luxury 
with an air . which levelled all distinctions between 
Brookes’s and Snooks’s, Crock ford's and Bagnigge Wells. 

We may smile at such people, but they can never ex- 
cite our anger. They are usually on the best terms with 
themselves, and it follows almost as a matter of course, 
in good humor with every one about them. Besides, 
they are always the faint reflection of higher lights ; 
and, if they do display a little occasional foolery in their 
own proper persons, it is surely more tolerable than pre- 
cocious puppyism in the Quadrant, whiskered dandyism 
in Regent Street and Pall Mall, or gallantry in its dotage 
anywhere. 


- CHAPTER H. 

A CHRISTMAS DINNER. 

Christmas time ! That man must be a misanthrope 
indeed, in whose breast something like a jovial feeling is 
not roused — in whose mind some pleasant associations 
are not awakened — by the recurrence of Christmas. 
There are people who will tell you that Christmas is not 
to them what it used to be ; that each succeeding Chiist- 
mas has found some cherished hope, or happy prospect, 
of the year before, dimmed or passed away ; that the 
present only serves to remind them of reduced circum- 
stances and straightened incomes — of the feasts they 
once bestowed on hollow friends, and of the cold looks 
that meet them now, in adversity and misfortune. Never 


A CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


291 


heed such dismal reminiscences. There are few men 
who have lived long enough in the world, who cannot call 
up such thoughts any day in the year. Then do not 
select the merriest of the three hundred and sixty-five, 
for your doleful recollections, but draw your chair nearer 
the blazing fire — fill the glass and send round the song 

— and if your room be smaller than it was a dozen years 
ago, or if your glass be filled with reeking punch, instead 
of sparkling wine, put a good face on the matter, and 
empty it off-hand, and fill another, and troll off the old 
ditty you used to sing, and thank God it’s no worse. 
Look on the merry faces of your children (if you have 
any) as they sit round the fire. One little seat may be 
empty ; one slight form that gladdened the father’s heart, 
and roused the mother’s pride to look upon, may not be 
there. Dwell not upon the past ; think not that one 
short year ago, the fair child now resolving into dust, sat 
before you, with the bloom of health upon its cheek, and 
the gayety of infancy in its joyous eye. Reflect upon 
your present blessings — of which every man has many 

— not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have 
some. Fill your glass again, with a merry face and con- 
tented heart. Our life on it, but your Christmas shall be 
merry, and your new year a happy one ! 

Who can be insensible to the outpourings of good feel- 
ing, and the honest interchange of affectionate attach- 
ment, which abound at this season of the year ? A 
Christmas family party! We know nothing in nature 
more delightful ! There seems a magic in the very name 
of Christmas. Petty jealousies and discords are forgot- 
ten; social feelings are awakened, in bosoms to which 
they have long been strangers ; father and son, or brother 
and sister, who have met and passed with averted gaze, 


292 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


or a look of cold recognition, for months before, proffer 
and return the cordial embrace, and bury their past ani- 
mosities in their present happiness. Kindly hearts that 
have yearned towards each other, but have been withheld 
by false notions of pride and self-dignity, are again re- 
united, and all is kindness and benevolence ! Would that 
Christmas lasted the whole year through (as it ought), 
and that the prejudices and passions which deform our 
better nature, were never called into action among those 
to whom they should ever be strangers ! 

The Christmas family party that we mean, is not a 
mere assemblage of relations, got up at a week or two’s 
notice, originating this year, having no family precedent 
in the last, and not likely to be repeated in the next. 
No. It is an annual gathering of all the accessible mem- 
bers of the family, young or old, rich or poor ; and all 
the children look forward to it, for two months before- 
hand, in a fever of anticipation. Formerly, it was held 
at grandpapa’s ; but grandpapa getting old, and grand- 
mamma getting old too, and rather infirm, they have 
given up housekeeping, and domesticated themselves with 
uncle George ; so, the party always takes place at uncle 
George’s house, but grandmamma sends in most of the 
good things, and grandpapa always will toddle down, all 
the way to Newgate Market, to buy the turkey, which he 
engages a porter to bring home behind him in triumph, 
always insisting on the man’s being rewarded with a glass 
of spirits, over and above his hire, to drink “ a merry 
Christmas and a happy new year ” to aunt George. As 
to grandmamma, she is very secret and mysterious for 
two or three days beforehand, but not sufficiently so to 
prevent rumors getting afloat that she has purchased a 
beautiful new cap with pink ribbons for each of the ser- 


A CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


298 


vants, together with sundry books, and pen- knives, and 
pencil-cases, for the younger branches ; to say nothing of 
divers secret additions to the order originally given by 
aunt George at the pastry-cook’s, such as another dozen 
of mince-pies for the dinner, and a large plum-cake for 
the children. 

On Christmas Eve, grandmamma is always in excellent 
spirits, and after employing all the children, during the 
day, in stoning the plums, and all that, insists, regularly 
every year, on uncle George coming down into the 
kitchen, taking off his coat, and stirring the pudding 
for half an hour or so, which uncle George good-humor- 
edly does to the vociferous delight of the children and 
servants. The evening concludes with a glorious game 
of blind-man’s-buff, in an early stage of which grandpapa 
takes great care to be caught, in order that he may have 
an opportunity of displaying his dexterity. 

On the following morning, the old couple, with as many 
of the children as the pew will hold, go to church in 
great state : leaving aunt George at home dusting decan- 
ters and filling castors, and uncle George carrying bottles 
into the dining-parlor, and calling for cork-screws, and 
getting into everybody’s way. 

When the church-party return to lunch, grandpapa 
produces a small spring of mistletoe from his pocket, and 
tempts the boys to kiss their little cousins under it — a 
proceeding which affords both the boys and the old gen- 
tleman unlimited satisfaction, but which rather outrages 
grandmamma’s ideas of decorum, until grandpapa says, 
that when he was just thirteen years and three months 
old, he kissed grandmamma under a mistletoe too, on 
tvhich the children clap their bands, and laugh very 
heartily, as do aunt George and uncle George ; and 


294 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


grandmamma looks pleased, and says, with a benevolent 
smile, that grandpapa was an impudent young dog, on 
which the children laugh very heartily again, and grand- 
papa more heartily than any of them. 

But all these diversions are nothing to the subsequent 
excitement when grandmamma in a high cap, and slate- 
colored silk gown ; and grandpapa with a beautifully 
plaited shirt-frill, and white neckerchief ; seat themselves 
on one side of the drawing-room fire, with uncle George’s 
children and little cousins innumerable, seated in the 
front, waiting the arrival of the expected visitors. Sud- 
denly a hackney-coach is heard to stop, and uncle George, 
who has been looking out of the window, exclaims, 
“ Here’s Jane ! ” on which the children rush to the door, 
and helter-skelter down-stairs ; and uncle Robert and 
aunt Jane, and the dear little baby, and the nurse, and 
the whole party, are ushered up-stairs amidst tumultuous 
shouts of “ Oh, my ! ” from the children, and frequently 
repeated warnings not to hurt baby from the nurse. And 
grandpapa takes the child, and grandmamma kisses her 
daughter, and the confusion of this first entry has scarcely 
subsided, when some other aunts and uncles with more 
cousins arrive, and the grown-up cousins flirt with each 
other, and so do the little cousins too, for that matter, 
and nothing is to be heard but a confused din of talking, 
laughing, and merriment. 

A hesitating double knock at the street-door, heard 
during a momentary pause in the conversation, excites a 
general inquiry of u Who’s that ? ” and two or three chil- 
dren, who have been standing at the window, announce 
in a low voice, that it’s “ poor aunt Margaret.” Upon 
which, aunt George leaves the room to welcome the new 
comer ; and grandmamma draws herself up, rather stiff 


A CHRISTMAS DINNER. 


295 


and stately ; for Margaret married a poor man without 
her consent, and poverty not being a sufficiently weighty 
punishment for her offence, has been discarded by her 
friends, and debarred the society of her dearest relatives. 
But Christmas has come round, and the unkind feelings 
that have struggled against better dispositions during the 
year, have melted away before its genial influence, like 
half-formed ice beneath the morning sun. It is not diffi- 
cult in a moment of angry feeling for a parent to de- 
nounce a disobedient child ; but, to banish her at a period 
of general good will and hilarity, from the hearth, round 
which she has sat on so many anniversaries of the same 
day, expanding by slow degrees from infancy to girlhood, 
and then bursting, almost imperceptibly, into a woman, is 
widely different. The air of conscious rectitude, and cold 
forgiveness, which the old lady has assumed, sits ill upon 
her ; and when the poor girl is led in by her sister, pale 
in looks and broken in hope — not from poverty, for that 
she could bear, but from the consciousness of undeserved 
neglect, and unmerited unkindness — it is easy to see 
how much of it is assumed. A momentary pause suc- 
ceeds ; the girl breaks suddenly from her sister and 
throws herself, sobbing, on her mother’s neck. The 
father steps hastily forward, and takes her husband’s 
hand. Friends crowd round to offer their hearty con- 
gratulations, and happiness and harmony again prevail. 

As to the dinner, it’s perfectly delightful — nothing 
goes wrong, and everybody is in the very besl of spirits, 
and disposed to please and be pleased. Grandpapa 
relates a circumstantial account of the purchase of the 
Turkey, with a slight digression relative to the purchase 
of previous turkeys, on former Christmas days, which 
grandmamma corroborates in the minutest particular 


296 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Uncle George tells stories, and carves poultry, and takes 
wine, and jokes with the children at the side-table, and 
winks at the cousins that are making love, or being made 
love to, and exhilarates everybody with his good humor 
and hospitality ; and when, at last, a stout servant stag- 
gers in with a gigantic pudding, with a sprig of holly in 
the top, there is such a laughing, and shouting, and clap- 
ping of little chubby hands, and kicking up of fat dumpy 
legs, as can only be equalled by the applause with which 
the astonishing feat of pouring lighted brandy into mince- 
pies, is received by the younger visitors. Then the 
dessert ! — and the wine ! — and the fun ! Such beauti- 
ful speeches, and such songs, from aunt Margaret’s hus- 
band, who turns out to be such a nice man, and so atten- 
tive to grandmamma ! Even grandpapa not only sings 
his annual song with unprecedented vigor, but on being 
honored with an unanimous encore , according to annual 
custom, actually comes out with a new one which nobody 
but grandmamma ever heard before ; and a young scape- 
grace of a cousin, who has been in some disgrace with 
the old people, for certain heinous sins of omission and 
commission — neglecting to call, and persisting in drink- 
ing Burton ale — astonishes everybody into convulsions 
of laughter by volunteering the most extraordinary 
comic songs that ever were heard. And thus the even- 
ing passes, in a strain of rational good-will and cheerful- 
ness, doing more to awaken the sympathies of every 
member of the party in behalf of his neighbor, and to 
perpetuate their good feeling during the ensuing year 
than half the homilies that have ever been written, by 
half the Divines that have ever lived. 


THE NEW YEAR. 


297 


CHAPTER III. 

THE NEW YEAR. 

Next to Christmas Day, the most pleasant annual 
epoch in existence is the advent of the New Year. 
There are a lachrymose set of people who usher in the 
New Year with watching and fasting, as if they were 
bound to attend as chief mourners at the obsequies of 
the old one. Now, we cannot but think it a great deal 
more complimentary, both to the old year that has rolled 
away, and to the New Year that is just beginning to 
dawn upon us, to see the old fellow out, and the new one 
in, with gayety and glee. 

There must have been some few occurrences in the 
past year to which we can look back, with a smile of 
cheerful recollection, if not with a feeling of heartfelt 
thankfulness. And we are bound by every rule of 
justice and equity to give the New Year credit for 
being a good one, until he proves himself unworthy the 
confidence we repose in him. 

This is our view of the matter ; and entertaining it, 
notwithstanding our respect for the old year, one of 
the few remaining moments of whose existence passes 
away with every word we write, here we are, seated by 
our fireside on this last night of the old year, one thou- 
sand eight hundred and thirty-six, penning this article 
with as jovial a face as if nothing extraordinary had 
happened, or was about to happen, to disturb our good- 
humor. 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Hackney-coaches and carriages keep rattling up the 
street and down the street in rapid succession, convey- 
ing, doubtless, smartly dressed coachfuls to crowded par- 
ties ; loud and repeated double knocks at the house with 
green blinds, opposite, announce to the whole neighbor- 
hood that there’s one large party in the street at all 
events ; and we saw through the window, and through 
the fog too, till it grew so thick that we rung for candles, 
and drew our curtains, pastry-cooks’ men with green 
boxes on their heads, and rout-furniture-warehouse-carts, 
with cane seats and French lamps, hurrying to the 
numerous houses where an annual festival is held in 
honor of the occasion. 

We can fancy one of these parties, we think, as well 
as if we were duly dress-coated and pumped, and had 
just been announced at the drawing-room door. 

Take the house with the green blinds for instance. 
We know it is a quadrille party, because we saw some 
men taking up the front drawing-room carpet while we 
sat at breakfast this morning, and if further evidence be 
required, and we must tell the truth, we just now saw 
one of the young ladies “ doing ” another of the young 
ladies’ hair, near one of the bedroom windows, in an 
unusual style of splendor, which nothing else but a qua- 
drille party could possibly justify. 

The master of the house with the "reen blinds is in a 
public office ; we know the fact by the cut of his coat, 
<he tie of his neckcloth, and the self-satisfaction of his 
gait — the very green blinds themselves have a Somer- 
set-House air about them. 

Hark! — a cab! That’s a junior clerk in the same 
office ; a tidy sort of young man, with a tendency to cold 
and corns, who comes in a pair of boots with black cloth 


THE NEW YEAR. 


299 


fronts, and brings his shoes in his coat-pocket, which 
shoes he is at this very moment putting on in the hall. 
Now, he is announced by the man in the passage to 
another man in a blue coat, who is a disguised messenger 
rom the office. 

The man on the first landing precedes him to the 
drawing-room door. “ Mr. Tupple ! ” shouts the mes- 
senger. “ How are you, Tupple ? ” says the master of 
the house, advancing from the fire, before which he has 
been talking politics and airing himself. “ My dear, this 
is Mr. Tupple (a courteous salute from the lady of the 
house) ; Tupple, my eldest daughter ; Julia, my dear, 
Mr. Tupple ; Tupple, my other daughters ; my son, 
sir;” Tupple rubs his hands very hard, and smiles as 
if it were all capital fun, and keeps constantly bowing 
and turning himself round, till the whole family have 
been introduced, when he glides into a chair at the cor- 
ner of the sofa, and opens a miscellaneous conversation 
with the young ladies upon the weather, and the theatres, 
and the old year, and the last new murder, and the bal- 
loon, and the ladies’ sleeves, and the festivities of the 
season, and a great many other topics of small talk. 

More double knocks ! what an extensive party ; what 
an incessant hum of conversation and general sipping 
of coffee ! We see Tupple now, in our mind’s eye, in 
the height of his glory. He has just handed that stout 
old lady’s cup to the servant ; and now, he dives among the* 
crowd of young men by the door, to intercept the other 
servant, and secure the muffin-plate for the old lady’s 
daughter, before he leaves the room ; and now, as he 
passes the sofa on his way back, he bestows a glance of 
recognition and patronage upon the young ladies, as 
condescending and familiar as if he bad known them 
from infancy. 


300 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Charming person Mr. Tupple — perfect ladies man — 
such a delightful companion, too ! Laugh ! — nobody 
ever understood papa’s jokes half so well as Mr. Tupple, 
who laughs himself into convulsions at every fresh burst 
of facetiousness. Most delightful partner ! talks through 
the whole set ! and although he does seem at first rather 
gay and frivolous, so romantic and with so much feeling ! 
Quite a love. No great favorite with the young men, 
certainly, who sneer at, and affect to despise him ; but 
everybody knows that’s only envy, and they needn’t give 
themselves the trouble to depreciate his merits at any 
rate, for Ma says he shall be asked to every future din- 
ner-party, if it’s only to talk to people between the 
courses, and distract their attention when there’s any un- 
expected delay in the kitchen. 

At supper, Mr. Tupple shows to still greater advan- 
tage than he has done throughout the evening, and when 
Pa requests every one to fill their glasses for the pur- 
pose of drinking happiness throughout the year, Mr. 
Tupple is so droll : insisting on all the young ladies 
having their glasses filled, notwithstanding their repeated 
assurances that they never can, by any possibility, think 
of emptying them : and subsequently begging permission 
to say a few words on the sentiment which has just been 
uttered by Pa — when he makes one of the most bril- 
liant and poetical speeches that can ppssibly be imagined, 
about the old year and new one. After the toast has 
been drunk, and when the ladies have retired, Mr. Tup- 
ple requests that every gentleman will do him the favor 
of filling his glass, for he has a toast to propose : on 
which all the gentlemen cry “Hear! hear!” and pass 
the decanters accordingly: and Mr. Tupple being in- 
formed by the master of the house that they are all 


THE NEW YEAR. 


801 


charged, and waiting for his toast, rises, and begs to 
remind the gentlemen present, how much they have 
been delighted by the dazzling array of elegance and 
beauty which the drawing-room has exhibited that night, 
and how their senses have been charmed, and their 
hearts captivated, by the bewitching concentration of 
female loveliness which that very room has so recently 
displayed. (Loud cries of “ Hear ! ”) Much as he 
(Tupple) would be disposed to deplore the absence of 
the ladies, on other grounds, he cannot but derive some 
consolation from the reflection that the very circumstance 
of their not being present, enables him to propose a 
toast, which he would have otherwise been prevented 
from giving — that toast he begs to say is — “ The 
Ladies!” (Great applause.) The Ladies! among 
whom the fascinating daughters of their excellent host 
are alike conspicuous for their beauty, their accomplish- 
ments, and their elegance. He begs them to drain a 
bumper to “ The Ladies, and a happy new year to 
them ! ” (Prolonged approbation ; above which the 
noise of the ladies dancing the Spanish dance among 
themselves, overhead, is distinctly audible.) 

The applause consequent on this toast has scarcely 
subsided, when a young gentleman in a pink under- 
waistcoat, sitting towards the bottom of the table, is ob- 
served to grow very restless and fidgety, and to evince 
strong indications of some latent desire to give vent to 
his feelings in a speech, which the wary Tupple at once 
perceiving, determines to forestall by speaking himself. 
He, therefore, rises again, with an air of solemn impor- 
tance, and trusts he may be permitted to propose another 
toast (unqualified approbation, and Mr. Tupple proceeds). 
He is sure they must all be deeply impressed with the 


602 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


hospitality — he may say the splendor — with which 
they have been that night received by their worthy host 
and hostess. (Unbounded applause.) Although this is 
the first occasion on which he has had the pleasure and 
delight of sitting at that board, he lias known his friend 
Dobble long and intimately ; he has been connected with 
him in business — he wishes everybody present knew 
Dobble as well as he does. (A cough from the host.) 
He (Tupple) can lay his hand upon liis (Tupple’s) heart, 
and declare his confident belief that a better man, a 
better husband, a better father, a better brother, a better 
son, a better relation in any relation of life, than Dobble, 
never existed. (Loud cries of “ Hear ! ”) They have 
seen him to-night in the peaceful bosom of his family : 
they should see him in the morning, in the trying duties 
of his office. Calm in the perusal of the morning pa- 
pers, uncompromising in the signature of his name, digni- 
fied in his replies to the inquiries of stranger applicants, 
deferential in his behavior to his superiors, majestic in 
his deportment to the messengers. (Cheers.) When he 
bears this merited testimony to the excellent qualities of 
his friend Dobble, what can he say in approaching such 
a subject as Mrs. Dobble? Is it requisite for him to 
expatiate on the qualities of that amiable woman ? No ; 
he will spare his friend Dobble’s feelings ; he will spare 
the feelings of his friend — if he will allow him to have 
the honor of calling him so — Mr. Dobble, junior. (Here 
Mr. Dobble, junior, who has been previously distending 
his mouth to a considerable width, by thrusting a partic- 
ularly fine orange into that feature, suspends operations, 
and assumes a proper appearance of intense melancholy.) 
He will simply say — and he is quite certain it is a sen- 
timent in which all who hear him will readily concur — 


THE NEW YEAR. 


30* 

tliat his friend Dobble is as superior to any man he ever 
knew, as Mrs. Dobble is far beyond any woman he ever 
saw (except her daughters) ; and he will conclude by 
proposing their worthy “ Host and Hostess, and may they 
live to enjoy many more new years ! ” 

The toast is drunk with acclamation ; Dobble returns 
thanks, and the whole party rejoin the ladies in the 
drawing-room. Young men who were too bashful to 
dance before supper, find tongues and partners ; the mu- 
sicians exhibit unequivocal symptoms of having drunk 
the new year in, while the company were out ; and 
dancing is kept up, until far in the first morning of the 
new year. 

We have scarcely written the last word of the previous 
sentence, when the first stroke of twelve, peals from the 
neighboring churches. There certainly — we must con- 
fess it now — is something awful in the sound. Strictly 
speaking, it may not be more impressive now than at 
any other time ; for the hours steal as swiftly on at 
other periods, and their flight is little heeded. But we 
measure man’s life by years, and it is a solemn knell that 
warns us we have passed another of the landmarks which 
stand between us and the grave. Disguise it as we may, 
the reflection will force itself on our minds, that when 
the next bell announces the arrival of a new year, we 
may be insensible alike of the timely warning we have 
so often neglected, and of all the warm feelings that glow 
within us now. 


304 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CHAPTER IV. 

MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE. 

Mr. Samuel Wilkins was a carpenter, a journey- 
man carpenter of small dimensions, decidedly below the 
middle size — bordering, perhaps, upon the dwarfish. 
His face was round and shining, and his hair carefully 
twisted into the outer comer of each eye, till it formed a 
variety of that description of semi-curls, usually known 
as “ aggerawators.” His earnings were all-sufficient for 
his wants, varying from eighteen shillings to one pound 
five, weekly — his manner undeniable — his Sabbath 
waistcoats dazzling. No wonder that, with these quali- 
fications, Samuel Wilkins found favor in the eyes of the 
other sex : many women have been captivated by far less 
substantial qualifications. But, Samuel was proof against 
their blandishments, until at length his eyes rested on 
those of a Being for whom, from that time forth, he felt 
fate had destined him. He came, and conquered — 
proposed, and was accepted — loved, and was beloved. 
Mr. Wilkins “kept company” with Jemima Evans. 

Miss Evans (or Ivins, to adopt the pronunciation most 
in vogue with her circle of acquaintance) had adopted in 
early life the useful pursuit of shoe-binding, to which she 
had afterwards superadded the occupation of a straw- 
bonnet maker. Herself, her maternal parent, and two 
sisters, formed an harmonious quartet in the most se- 
cluded portion of Camdentown ; and here it was that 
Mr. Wilkins presented himself, one Monday afternoon, 


MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE. 


305 


in his best attire, with his face more shining and his 
waistcoat more bright than either had ever appeared 
before. The family were just going to tea, and were so 
glad to see him. It was quite a little feast ; two ounces 
of seven-and-sixpenny green, and a quarter of a pound 
of the best fresh ; and Mr. Wilkins had brought a pin- 
of shrimps, neatly folded up in a clean belcher, to give a 
zest to the meal, and propitiate Mrs. Ivins. Jemima was 
“ cleaning herself” up-stairs; so Mr. Samuel Wilkins 
sat down and talked domestic economy with Mrs. Ivins, 
whilst the two youngest Miss Ivinses poked bits of lighted 
brown paper between the bars under the kettle to make 
the water boil for tea. 

“ I wos a-thinking,” said Mr. Samuel Wilkins, during 
a pause in the conversation — I wos a-thinking of taking 
J’mima to the Eagle to-night.” — “ O my ! ” exclaimed 
Mrs. Ivins. “ Lor ! how nice ! ” said the youngest Miss 
Ivins. “ Well, I declare ! ” added the youngest Miss 
Ivins but one. “ Tell J’mima to put on her white 
muslin, Tilly,” screamed Mrs. Ivins, with motherly anx- 
iety; and down came J’mima herself soon afterwards 
in a white muslin gown carefully hooked and eyed, a 
little red shawl, plentifully pinned, a white straw bonnet 
trimmed with red ribbons, a small necklace, a large 
pair of bracelets, Denmark satin shoes, and open-worked 
stockings ; white cotton gloves on her fingers, and a cam- 
bric pocket-handkerchief, carefully folded up, in her hand 
— all quite genteel and ladylike. And away went Miss 
Jemima Ivins and Mr. Samuel Wilkins, and a dress cane, 
with a gilt knob at the top, to the admiration and envy 
of the street in general, and to the high gratification of 
Mrs. Ivins, and the two youngest Miss Ivinses in par- 
ticular. They had no sooner turned into the Tancras 
vol. i. 20 


306 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


Road, than who should Miss J’mima Ivins stumble upon, 
by the most fortunate accident in the world, but a young 
lady as she knew, with her young man ! — And it is so 
strange how things do turn out sometimes — they were 
actually going to the Eagle too. So Mr. Samuel Wil- 
kins was introduced to Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend’s 
young man, and they all walked on together, talking, 
and laughing, and joking away like anything ; and when 
they got as far as Pentonville, Miss Ivins’s friend’s young 
man would have the ladies go into the Crown, to taste 
some shrub, which, after a great blushing and giggling, 
and hiding of faces in elaborate pocket-handkerchiefs, 
they consented to do. Having tasted it once, they were 
easily prevailed upon to taste it again ; and they sat out 
in the garden tasting shrub, and looking at the Busses 
alternately, till it was just the proper time to go to the 
Eagle ; and then they resumed their journey, and walked 
very fast, for fear they should lose the beginning of the 
concert in the rotunda. 

“ How ev’nly ! ” said Miss Jemima Ivins, and Miss 
Jemima Ivins’s friend, both at once, when they had 
passed the gate and were fairly inside the gardens. 
There were the walks, beautifully gravelled and planted 
— and the refreshment-boxes, painted and ornamented 
like so many snuff-boxes — and the variegated lamps 
shedding their rich light upon the company’s heads — 
and the place for dancing ready chalked for the com- 
pany’s feet — and a Moorish band playing at one end of 
the gardens — and an opposition military band playing 
away at the other. Then, the waiters were rushing to 
and fro with glasses of negus, and glasses of brandy- 
and-water, and bottles of ale, and bottles of stout ; and 
ginger-beer was going off in one place, and practical jokes 


MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE. 


307 


were going on in another ; and people were crowding to 
the door of the Rotunda ; and in short the whole scene 
was, as Miss J’mima Ivins, inspired by the novelty, or 
the shrub, or both, observed — “ one of dazzling excite- 
ment/’ As to the concert-room, never was anything 
half so splendid. There was an orchestra for the sing- 
ers, all paint, gilding, and plate-glass; and such an 
organ ! Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend’s young man whis- 
pered it had cost “four hundred pound,” which Mr. 
Samuel Wilkins said was “not dear neither;” an opin- 
ion in which the ladies perfectly coincided. The audi- 
ence were seated on elevated benches round the room, 
and crowded into every part of it ; and everybody was 
eating and drinking as comfortably as possible. Just 
before the concert commenced, Mr. Samuel Wilkins 
ordered two glasses of rum-and-water “ warm with — ” 
and two slices of lemon, for himself and the other young 
man, together with “ a pint o’ sherry wine for the ladies, 
and some sweet caraway-seed biscuits ; ” and they would 
have been quite comfortable and happy, only a strange 
gentleman with large whiskers would stare at Miss 
J’mima Ivins, and another gentleman in a plaid waist- 
coat would wink at Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend ; on which 
Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend’s young man exhibited symp- 
toms of boiling over, and began to mutter about “ people’s 
imperence,” and “ swells out o’ luck ; ” and to intimate, 
in oblique terms, a vague intention of knocking some- 
body’s head off; which he was only prevented from 
announcing more emphatically, by both Miss J’mima 
Ivins and her friend threatening to faint away on the 
spot if he said another word. 

The concert commenced — overture on the organ. 
* How solemn! ” exclaimed Miss J’mima Ivins, glancing 


808 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


perhaps unconsciously, at the gentleman with the whis- 
kers. Mr. Samuel Wilkins, who had been muttering 
apart for some time past, as if he were holding a con- 
fidential conversation with the gilt knob of the dress 
cane, breathed hard — breathing vengeance, perhaps, — 
but said nothing. 44 The soldier tired,” Miss Somebody 
in white satin. 44 Ancore 1 ” cried Miss J’mima Ivins’s 
friend. 44 Ancore ! ” shouted the gentleman in the plaid 
waistcoat immediately, hammering the table with a stout- 
bottle. Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend’s young man eyed 
the man behind the waistcoat from head to foot, and cast 
a look of interrogative contempt towards Mr. Samuel 
Wilkins. Comic song, accompanied on the organ. Miss 
J’mima Ivins was convulsed with laughter — so was the 
man with the whiskers. Everything the ladies did, the 
plaid waistcoat and whiskers did, by way of expressing 
unity of sentiment and congeniality of soul ; and Miss 
J’mima Ivins, and Miss J’mima Ivins’s friend, grew lively 
and talkative, as Mr. Samuel Wilkins, and Miss J’mima 
Ivins’s friend’s young man, grew morose and surly in in- 
verse proportion. 

Now, if the matter had ended here, the little party 
might soon have recovered their former equanimity ; but 
Mr. Samuel Wilkins and his friend began to throw looks 
of defiance upon the waistcoat and whiskers. And the 
waistcoat and whiskers, by way of intimating the slight 
degree in which they were affected by the looks afore- 
said, bestowed glances of increased admiration upon Miss 
J’mima Ivins and friend. The concert and vaudeville 
concluded, they promenaded the gardens. The waistcoat 
and whiskers did the same ; and made divers remarks 
complimentary to the ankles of Miss J’mima Ivins and 
friend, in an audible tone. At length, not satisfied 


MISS EVANS AND THE EAGLE. 


309 


with these numerous atrocities, they actually came up 
and asked Miss J’mima Ivins, and Miss J’mima Ivins’s 
friend to dance, without taking no more notice of Mr. 
Samuel Wilkins, and Miss J’mima Ivins’s friends young 
man, than if they was nobody ! 

“ What do you mean by that, scoundrel ? ” exclaimed 
Mr. Samuel Wilkins, grasping the gilt-knobbed dress- 
cane firmly in his right hand. “ What’s the matter with 
you , you little humbug ? ” replied the whiskers. “ How 
dare you insult me and my friend ? ” inquired the friend’s 
young man. “ You and your friend be hanged ! ” re- 
sponded the waistcoat. “ Take that,” exclaimed Mr. 
Samuel Wilkins. The ferrule of the gilt-knobbed dress- 
cane was visible for an instant, and then the light of the 
variegated lamps shone brightly upon it as it whirled 
into the air, cane and all. “ Give it him,” said the waist- 
coat. “ Horficer ! ” screamed the ladies. Miss J’mima 
Ivins’s beau, and the friend’s young man, lay gasping 
on the gravel, and the waistcoat and whiskers were seen 
no more. 

Miss J’mima Ivins and friend being conscious that the 
affray was in no slight degree attributable to themselves, 
of course went into hysterics forthwith ; declared them- 
selves the most injured of women; exclaimed, in inco» 
herent ravings, that they had been suspected — wrong- 
fully suspected — oh ! that they should ever have lived 
to see the day — and so forth; suffered a relapse every 
time they opened their eyes and saw their unfortunate 
little admirers ; and were carried to their respective 
abodes in a hackney-coach, and a state of insensibility, 
compounded of shrub, sherry, and excitement. 


310 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


CHAPTER V. 

THE PARLOR ORATOR. 

We had been lounging one evening, down Oxford 
Street, Holborn, Cheapside, Coleman Street, Finsbury 
Square, and so on, with the intention of returning west- 
ward, by Pentonville and the New Road, when we be- 
gan to feel rather thirsty, and disposed to rest for five or 
ten minutes.. So, we turned back towards an old, quiet, 
decent public-house, which we remembered to have 
passed but a moment before (it was not far from the 
City Road), for the purpose of solacing ourself with a 
glass of ale. The house was none of your stuccoed, 
French-polished, illuminated palaces, but a modest pub- 
lic-house of the old school, with a little old bar, and a 
little old landlord, who, with a wife and daughter of the 
same pattern, was comfortably seated in the bar afore- 
said — a snug little room with a cheerful fire, protected 
by a large screen : from behind which the young lady 
emerged on our representing our inclination for a glass 
of ale. 

“Won’t you walk into the parlor, sir?” said the young 
lady, in seductive tones. 

“ You had better walk into the parlor, sir,” said the 
little old landlord, throwing his chair back, and look- 
ing round one side of the screen, to survey our ap- 
pearance. 

“ You had much better step into the parlor, sir,” said 
the little old lady, popping out her head, on the other 
side of the screen. 


THE PARLOR ORATOR. 


311 


We cast a slight glance around, as if to express our 
ignorance of the locality so much recommended. The 
little old landlord observed it ; bustled out of the small 
door of the small bar ; and forthwith ushered us into the 
parlor itself. 

It was an ancient, dark-looking room, with oaken 
wainscoting, a sanded floor, and a high mantel-piece. The 
walls were ornamented with three or four old colored 
prints in black frames, each print representing a naval 
engagement, with a couple of men-of-war banging away 
at each other most vigorously, while another vessel or 
two were blowing up in the distance, and the foreground 
presented a miscellaneous collection of broken masts and 
blue legs sticking up out of the water. Depending from 
the ceiling in the centre of the room, were a gas-light 
and bell-pull ; on each side were three or four long nar- 
row tables, behind which was a thickly planted row of 
those slippery, shiny looking wooden chairs, peculiar to 
hostelries of this description. The monotonous appear- 
ance of the sanded boards was relieved by an occasional 
spittoon ; and a triangular pile of those useful articles 
adorned the two upper corners of the apartment. 

At the furthest table, nearest the fire, with his face 
towards the door at the bottom of the room, sat a stout- 
ish man of about forty, whose short, stiff, black hair 
curled closely round a broad high forehead, and a face 
to which something besides water and exercise had com- 
municated a rather inflamed appearance. He was smok- 
ing a cigar, with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and had 
that confident oracular air which marked him as the lead- 
ing politician, general authority, and universal anecdote- 
relater, of the place. He had evidently just delivered 
himself of something very weighty ; for the remainder 


812 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


of the company were puffing at their respective pipes 
and cigars in a kind of solemn abstraction, as if quite 
overwhelmed with the magnitude of the subject recently 
under discussion. 

On his right hand sat an elderly gentleman with a 
white head, and broad-brimmed brown hat ; on his left, a 
sharp-nosed, light-haired man in a brown surtout reach- 
ing nearly to his heels, who took a whiff at his pipe, 
and an admiring glance at the red-faced man, alter- 
nately. 

“ Very extraordinary ! ” said the light-haired man after 
a pause of five minutes. A murmur of assent ran 
through the company. 

“ Not at all extraordinary — not at all,” said the red- 
faced man, awakening suddenly from his reverie, and 
turning upon the light-haired man, the moment he had 
spoken. 

“ Why should it be extraordinary ? — why is it ex- 
traordinary ? — prove it to be extraordinary ! ” 

“ Oh, if you come to that — ” said the light-haired 
man, meekly. 

“ Come to that ! ” ejaculated the man with the red 
face ; “ but we must come to that. We stand, in these 
times, upon a calm elevation of intellectual attainment, 
and not in the dark recess of mental deprivation. 
Proof, is what I require — proof, and not assertions, iii 
these stirring times. Every gen’lem’n that knows me, 
knows what was the nature and effect of my observa- 
tions, when it was in the contemplation of the Old Street 
Subuiban Representative Discovery Society, to recom- 
mend a candidate for that place in Cornwall there — I 
forget the name of it. ‘ Mr. Snobee,’ said Mr. Wilson, 
t’is a fit and proper person to represent the borough in 


THE PARLOR ORATOR. 


313 


Parliament/ ‘ Prove it/ says I. 4 He is a friend to 
Reform/ says Mr. Wilson. ‘Prove it/ sajs I. ‘The 
abolitionist of the national debt, the unflinching opponent 
of pensions, the uncompromising advocate of the negro, 
the reducer of sinecures and the duration of Parlia- 
ments ; the extender of nothing but the suffrages of the 
people/ says Mr. Wilson. ‘ Prove it/ says I- ‘ His 
acts prove it/ says he. ‘ Prove them,’ says I. 

“ And he could not prove them,” said the red-faced man, 
looking round triumphantly; “and the borough didn’t 
have him ; and if you carried this principle to the full 
extent, you’d have no debt, no pensions, no sinecures, 
no negroes, no nothing. And then, standing upon an 
elevation of intellectual attainment, and having reached 
the summit of popular prosperity, you might bid defiance 
to the nations of the earth, and erect yourselves in the 
proud confidence of wisdom and superiority. This is 
my argument — this always has been my argument — 
and if I was a Member of the House of Commons to- 
morrow, Pd make ’em shake in their shoes with it.” 
And the red-faced man, having struck the table very 
hard with his clenched fist, to add weight to the decla- 
ration, smoked away like a brewery. 

“ Well ! ” said the sharp-nosed man, in a very slow and 
soft voice, addressing the company in general, “ I always 
do say, that of all the gentlemen I have the pleasure of 
meeting in this room, there is not one whose conversation 
I like to hear so much as Mr. Rogers’s, or who is such 
improving company.” 

“ Improving company ! ” said Mr. Rogers, for that, it 
seemed, was the name of the red-faced man, “ You may 
say I am improving company, for I’ve improved you all 
to some purpose ; though as to my conversation being as 


814 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


my friend Mr. Ellis here describes it, that is not for me to 
say anything about. You, gentlemen, are the best judges 
on that point ; but this I will say, when I came into this 
parish, and first used this room, ten years ago, I don’t 
believe there was one man in it who knew he was a slave 
— and now you all know it, and writhe under it. In- 
scribe that upon my tomb, and I am satisfied.” 

“ Why, as to inscribing it on your tomb,” said a little 
greengrocer with a chubby face, “ of course you can have 
anything chalked up, as you likes to pay for, so far as it 
relates to yourself and your affairs ; but, when you come 
to talk about slaves and that there abuse, you’d better 
keep it in the family, ’cos I for one don’t like to be called 
them names, night after night.” 

“ You are a slave,” said the red-faced man, “ and the 
most pitiable of all slaves.” 

“ Werry hard if I am,” interrupted the greengrocer, 
“ for I got no good out of the twenty million that was 
paid for ’mancipation, any how.” 

“ A willing slave,” ejaculated the red-faced man, 
getting more red with eloquence and contradiction — 
“ resigning the dearest birthright of your children — 
neglecting the sacred call of Liberty — who, standing 
imploringly before you, appeals to the warmest feelings 
of your heart, and points to your helpless infants but in 
vain.” 

“ Prove it,” said the greengrocer. 

“ Prove it ! ” sneered the man with the red face. 
“ What ! bending beneath the yoke of an insolent and 
factious oligarchy; bowed down by the domination of 
cruel laws ; groaning beneath tyranny and oppression on 
every hand, at every side, and in every corner. Prove 
it? — ” The red-faced man abruptly broke off, sneered 


THE PARLOR ORATOR. 315 

melo-dramatically, and buried his countenance and his 
indignation together, in a quart pot. 

“ Ah, to be sure, Mr. Rogers,” said a stout broker in a 
Jarge waistcoat, who had kept his eyes fixed on this 
luminary all the time he was speaking. “Ah, to be 
sure,” said the broker with a sigh, “ that’s the point.” 

“ Of course, of course,” said divers members of the 
company, who understood almost as much about the 
matter as the broker himself. 

“ You had better let him alone, Tommy,” said the 
broker, by way of advice to the little greengrocer, “ he 
can tell what’s o’clock by an eight-day, without looking 
at the minute hand, he can. Try it on, on some other 
suit ; it won’t do with him, Tommy.” 

“ What is a man ? ” continued the red-faced specimen 
of the species, jerking his hat indignantly from its peg 
on the wall. “ What is an Englishman ? Is he to be 
trampled upon by every oppressor ? Is he to be knocked 
down at everybody’s bidding ? What’s freedom ? Not 
a standing army. What’s a standing army ? Not free- 
dom. What’s general happiness ? Not universal misery. 
Liberty a’n’t the window-tax, is it ? The Lords a’n’t the 
Commons, are they?” And the red-faced man, gradu- 
ally bursting into a radiating sentence, in which such 
adjectives as “ dastardly,” “ oppressive,” “ violent,” and 
“ sanguinary,” formed the most conspicuous words, knocked 
his hat indignantly over his eyes, left the room, and 
slammed the door after him. 

“ Wonderful man ! ” said he of the sharp nose. 

“ Splendid speaker ! ” added the broker. 

“ Great power ! ” said everybody but the greengrocer. 
And as they said it, the whole party shook their heads 
mysteriously, and one by one retired, leaving us alone in 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


316 

the old parlor. If we had followed the established prece- 
dent in all such instances, we should have fallen into a 
fit of musing, without delay. The ancient appearance 
of the room — the old panelling of the wall — the chim- 
ney blackened with smoke and age — would have carried 
us back a hundred years at least, and we should have 
gone dreaming on, until the pewter-pot on the table, or 
the little beer-chiller on the fire, had started into life, 
and addressed to us a long story of days gone by. But, 
by some means or other, we were not in a romantic 
humor ; and although we tried very hard to invest the 
furniture with vitality, it remained perfectly unmoved, 
obstinate, and sullen. Being thus reduced to the un- 
pleasant necessity of musing about ordinary matters, our 
thoughts reverted to the red-faced man, and his oratorical 
display. 

A numerous race are these red-faced men ; there is 
not a parlor, or club-room, or benefit society, or humble 
party of any kind, without its red-faced man. Weak- 
pated dolts they are, and a great deal of mischief they 
do to their cause, however good. So, just to hold a 
pattern one up, to know the others by, we took his like- 
ness at once, and put him in here. And that is the 
reason why we have written this paper. 


THE HOSPITAL PATIENT. 


317 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE HOSPITAL PATIENT. 


In our rambles through the streets of London aftei 
evening has set in, we often pause beneath the windows of 
gome public hospital, and picture to ourselves the gloomy 
and mournful scenes that are passing within. The sud- 
den moving of a taper as its feeble ray shoots from 
window to window, until its light gradually disappears, 
as if it were carried farther back into the room to the 
bedside of some suffering patient, is enough to awaken a 
whole crowd of reflections : the mere glimmering of the 
low-burning lamps, which, when all other habitations are 
wrapped in darkness and slumber, denote the chamber 
where so many forms are writhing with pain, or wasting 
with disease, is sufficient to check the most boisterous 
merriment. 

Who can tell the anguish of those weary hours, when the 
only sound the sick man hears, is the disjointed wander- 
ings of some feverish slumberer near him, the low moan 
of pain, or perhaps the muttered, long-forgotten prayer of 
a dying man ? Who, but they who have felt it, can imag- 
ine the sense of loneliness and desolation which must be 
the portion of those who in the hour of dangerous illness 
are left to be tended by strangers ; for what hands, be they 
ever so gentle, can wipe the clammy brow, or smooth the 
restless bed, like those of mother, wife, or child ? 

Impressed with these thoughts, we have turned away, 
through the nearly deserted streets ; and the sight of 



318 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


the few miserable creatures still hovering about them, 
has not tended to lessen the pain which such meditations 
awaken. The hospital is a refuge and resting-place for 
hundreds, who but for such institutions must die in the 
streets and doorways ; but what can be the feelings of 
some outcasts when they are stretched on the bed of sick- 
ness with scarcely a hope of recovery ? The wretched 
woman who lingers about the pavement, hours after 
midnight, and the miserable shadow of a man — the 
ghastly remnant that want and drunkenness have left — 
which crouches beneath a window-ledge, to sleep where 
there is some shelter from the rain, have little to bind 
them to life, but what have they to look back upon, in 
death ? What are the unwonted comforts of a roof and 
a bed, to them, when the recollections of a whole life of 
debasement stalk before them ; when repentance seems 
a mockery, and sorrow comes too late ? 

About a twelvemonth ago, as we were strolling through 
Covent Garden, (we had been thinking about these things 
overnight,) we were attracted by the very prepossessing 
appearance of a pickpocket, who having declined to take 
the trouble of walking to the Police Office on the ground 
that he hadn’t the slightest wish to go there at all, was 
being conveyed thither in a wheelbarrow, to the huge 
delight of a crowd. 

Somehow, we never can resist joining a crowd, so we 
turned back with the mob, and entered the office, in 
company with our friend the pickpocket, a couple of 
policemen, and as many dirty-faced spectators as could 
squeeze their way in. 

There was a powerful, ill-looking young fellow at the 
bar, who was undergoing an examination, on the very 
eommon charge of having, on the previous night, ill' 


THE HOSPITAL PATIENT. 


319 


treated a woman, with whom he lived in some court 
hard by. Several witnesses bore testimony to acts of 
the grossest brutality ; and a certificate was read from 
the house-surgeon of a neighboring hospital, describing 
the nature of the injuries the woman had received, and 
intimating that her recovery was extremely doubtful. 

Some question appeared to have been raised about 
the identity of the prisoner ; for when it was agreed 
that the two magistrates should visit the hospital at eight 
o’clock that evening, to take her deposition, it was settled 
that the man should be taken there also. He turned 
pale at this, and we saw him clench the bar very hard 
when the order was given. He was removed directly 
afterwards, and he spoke not a word. 

We felt an irrepressible curiosity to witness this inter- 
view, although it is hard to tell why, at this instant, for 
we knew r it must be a painful one. It was no very 
difficult matter for us to gain permission, and we ob- 
tained it. 

The prisoner, and the officer who had him in custody, 
were already at the hospital when we reached it, and 
waiting the arrival of the magistrates in a small room 
below stairs. The man was handcuffed, and his hat was 
pulled forward over his eyes. It was easy to see, though, 
by the whiteness of his countenance, and the constant 
twitching of the muscles of his face, that he dreaded 
what was to come. After a short interval, the magis- 
trates and clerk were bowed in by the house-surgeon and 
a couple of young men who smelt very strong of tobacco- 
smoke — they were introduced as “ dressers ” — and 
after one magistrate had complained bitieriy of the cold, 
and the other of the absence of any news in the evening 
paper, it was announced that the patient was prepared ; 


820 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


and we were conducted to the “ casualty ward ” in which 
she was lying. 

The dim light which burnt in the spacious room, in- 
creased rather than diminished the ghastly appearance 
of the hapless creatures in the beds, which were ranged 
in two long rows on either side. In one bed lay a child 
enveloped in bandages, with its body half consumed by 
lire ; in another, a female, rendered hideous by some 
dreadful accident, was wildly beating her clenched fists 
on the coverlet, in pain ; on a third, there lay stretched 
a young girl, apparently in the heavy stupor often the 
immediate precursor of death : her face was stained with 
blood, and her breast and arms were bound up in folds 
of linen. Two or three of the beds were empty, and 
their recent occupants were sitting beside them, but with 
faces so wan, and eyes so bright and glassy, that it was 
fearful to meet their gaze. On every face was stamped 
the expression of anguish and suffering. 

The object of the visit was lying at the upper end of 
the room. She was a fine young woman of about two 
or three-and-twenty. Her long black hair, which had 
been hastily cut from near the wounds on her head, 
streamed over the pillow in jagged and matted locks. 
Her face bore deep marks of the ill-usage she had re- 
ceived : her hand was pressed upon her side, as if her 
chief pain were there ; her breathing was short and 
heavy ; and it was plain to see that she was dying fast. 
She murmured a few w T ords in reply to the magistrate’s 
inquiry whether she was in great pain ; and, having been 
raised on the pillow by the nurse, looked vacantly upon 
the strange countenances that surrounded her bed. The 
magistrate nodded to the officer to bring the man for- 
ward. He did so, and stationed him at the bedside. 


THE HOSPITAL PATIENT. 


321 


The girl looked on with a wild and troubled expression 
of face ; but her sight was dim, and she did not know 
him. 

“ Take off his hat,” said the magistrate. The officer 
did as he was desired, and the man’s features were dis- 
closed. 

The girl started up, with an energy quite preternatu- 
ral ; the fire gleamed in her heavy eyes, and the blood 
rushed to her pale and sunken cheeks. It was a convul- 
sive effort. She fell back upon her pillow, and covering 
her scarred and bruised face with her hands, burst into 
tears. The man cast an anxious look towards her, hut 
otherwise appeared wholly unmoved. After a brief 
pause the nature of their errand was explained, and the 
oath tendered. 

“ Oh, no, gentlemen,” said the girl, raising herself once 
more, and folding her hands together ; “ no, gentlemen, 
for God’s sake ! I did it myself — it was nobody’s fault 
— it was an accident. He didn’t hurt me ; he wouldn’t 
for all the world. Jack, dear Jack, you know you 
wouldn’t ! ” 

Her sight was fast failing her, and her hand groped 
over the bedclothes in search of his. Brute as the man 
was, he was not prepared for this. He turned his face 
from the bed, and sobbed. The girl’s color changed, and 
her breathing grew more difficult. She was evidently 
dying. 

“ We respect the feelings which prompt you to this,” 
said the gentleman who had spoken first, “ but let me 
warn you, not to persist in what you know to be untrue, 
until it is too late. It cannot save him.” 

“ Jack,” murmured the girl, laying her hand upon his 
arm, “they shall not persuade me to swear your life 

voi„. i. 21 


325 ? 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


away. He didn’t do it, gentlemen. He never hurt me.* 
She grasped his arm tightly, and added, in a broken 
whisper, “ I hope God Almighty will forgive me all the 
wrong I have done, and the life I have led. God bless 
you, Jack. Some kind gentleman take my love to my 
poor old father. Five years ago, he said he wished I 
had died a child. Oh, I wish I had ! I wish I had ! ” 
The nurse bent over the girl for a few seconds, and 
then drew the sheet over her face. It covered a corpse. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. JOHN DOUNCE. 

If we had to make a classification of society, there 
are a particular kind of men whom we should immedi- 
ately set down under the head of “ Old Boys ; ” and a 
column of most extensive dimensions the old boys would 
require. To what precise causes the rapid advance of 
old boy population is to be traced, we are unable to 
determine. It would be an interesting and curious spec- 
ulation, but, as we have not sufficient space to devote to 
it here, we simply state the fact that the numbers of the 
old boys have been gradually augmenting within the 
last few years, and that they are at this moment alarm- 
ingly on the increase. 

Upon a general review of the subject, and without 
considering it minutely in detail, we should be disposed 
to subdivide the old boys into two distinct classes — the 
gay old boys and the steady old boys. The gay old boys 


MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF ME. DOUNCE. 323 

are paunchy old men in the disguise of young ones, who 
frequent the Quadrant and Regent Street in the day- 
time : the theatres (especially theatres under lady man- 
agement) at night ; and who assume all the foppishness 
and levity of boys, without the excuse of youth or 
inexperience. The steady old boys are certain stout 
old gentlemen of clean appearance, who are always to 
be seen in the same taverns, at the same hours every 
evening, smoking and drinking in the same company. 

There was once a fine collection of old boys to be 
seen round the circular table at Offley’s every night, 
between the hours of half-past eight and half-past eleven. 
We have lost sight of them for some time. There were, 
and may be still, for aught we know, two splendid speci- 
mens in full blossom at the Rainbow Tavern in Fleet 
Street, who always used to sit in the box nearest the 
fireplace, and smoked long cherry-stick pipes which went 
under the table, with the bowls resting on the floor. 
Grand old boys they were — fat, red-faced, white-headed, 
old fellows — always there — one on one side the table, 
and the other opposite — puffing and drinking away in 
great state. Everybody knew them, and it was supposed 
by some people that they were both immortal. 

Mr. John Dounce was an old boy of the latter class 
(we don’t mean immortal, but steady), a retired glove 
and braces maker, a widower, resident with three daugh- 
ters — all grown up, and all unmarried — in Cursitor 
Street, Chancery Lane. He was a short, round, large- 
faced, tubbish sort of man, with a broad-brimmed hat, 
and a square coat ; and had that grave, but confident, 
kind of roll, peculiar to old boys in general. Regular as 
clock-work — breakfast at nine — dress and tittivate a 
little — down to the Sir Somebody’s Head — glass of ale 


324 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


and the paper — come back again, and take daughters out 
for a walk — dinner at three — glass of grog and pipe — • 
nap — tea — little walk — Sir Somebody’s Head again 
— capital house — delightful evenings. There were 
Mr. Harris the law-stationer, and Mr. Jennings, the 
robe-maker (two jolly young fellows like himself), and 
Jones, the barrister’s clerk — rum fellow that Jones — 
capital company — full of anecdote ! — and there they 
sat every night till just ten minutes before twelve, drink- 
ing their brandy-and- water, and smoking their pipes, and 
telling stories, and enjoying themselves with a kind of 
solemn joviality particularly edifying. 

Sometimes Jones would propose a half-price visit to 
Drury Lane or Covent Garden, to see two acts of a five- 
act play, and a new farce, perhaps, or a ballet, on which 
occasions the whole four of them went together ; none of 
your hurrying and nonsense, but having their brandy- 
and-water first, comfortably, and ordering a steak and 
some oysters for their supper against they came back, 
and then walking coolly into the pit, when the “ rush ” 
had gone in, as all sensible people do, and did when Mr. 
Dounce was a young man, except when the celebrated 
Master Betty was at the height of his popularity, and 
then, sir, — then — Mr. Dounce perfectly well remem- 
bered getting a holiday from business ; and going to the 
pit doors at eleven o’clock in the forenoon, and waiting 
there, till six in the afternoon, with some sandwiches in a 
pocket-handkerchief and some wine in a phial ; and faint- 
ing after all, with the heat and fatigue before the play 
S)egan ; in which situation he was lifted out of the pit, 
into one of the dress boxes, sir, by five of the finest 
women of that day, sir, who compassionated his situation 
and administered restoratives, and sent a black servant, 


MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. BOUNCE. 325 

six foot high, m blue and silver livery, next morning 
with their compliments, and to know how he found him- 
self, sir --by G— ! Between the acts Mr. Dounce and 
Mr. Harris, and Mr. Jennings, used to stand up, and look 
round the house, and Jones — knowing fellow that Jones 
— knew everybody, pointed out the fashionable and cele- 
brated lady So-and-So in the boxes, at the mention of 
whose name Mr. Dounce, after brushing up his hair, and 
adjusting his neckerchief, would inspect the aforesaid 
lady So-and-So through an immense glass, and remark, 
either, that she was a “ fine woman — very fine woman, 
indeed,” or that “ there might be a little more of her, — 
eh, Jones ? just as the case might happen to be. When 
the dancing began, John Dounce and the other old boys 
v\eie pai ticularly anxious to see what was going forward 
m the stage, and Jones — wicked dog that Jones — whis- 
pered little critical remarks into the ears of John Dounce, 
which John Dounce retailed to Mr. Harris, and Mr. 
Harris to Mr. Jennings ; and then they all four laughed, 
until the tears ran down, out of their eyes. 

When the curtain fell, they walked back together, two 
and two, to the steaks and oysters ; and when they came 
to the second glass of brandy-and- water, Jones — hoaxing 
scamp, that Jones — used to recount how he had ob- 
served a lady in white feathers, in one of the pit boxes, 
gazing intently on Mr. Dounce all the evening, and how 
he had caught Mr. Dounce, whenever he thought no one 
was looking at him, bestowing ardent looks of intense de- 
votion on the lady in return ; on which Mr. Harris and 
Mr. Jennings used to laugh very heartily, and John 
Dounce more heartily than either of them, acknowledging, 
however, that the time had been when he might have done 
such things; upon which Mr. Jones used to poke him in 


326 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


f he ribs, and tell. him he had been a sad dog in his time, 
which John Dounce, with chuckles confessed. And after 
Mr. Harris and Mr. Jennings had preferred their claims 
to the character of having been sad dogs too, they sepa- 
rated harmoniously, and trotted home. 

The decrees of Fate, and the means by which they 
are brought about, are mysterious and inscrutable. John 
Dounce had led this life for twenty years and upwards, 
without wish for change, or care for variety, when his 
whole social system was suddenly upset, and turned com- 
pletely topsy-turvy — not by an earthquake, or some 
other dreadful convulsion of nature, as the reader would 
be inclined to suppose, but by the simple agency of an 
oyster; and thus it happened. 

Mr. John Dounce was returning one night from the 

© © 

Sir Somebody’s Head, to his residence in Cursitor Street 
— not tipsy, but rather excited, for it was Mr. Jennings’s 
birthday, and they had had a brace of partridges for sup- 
per, and a brace of extra glasses afterwards, and Jones 
had been more than ordinarily amusing — when his eyes 
rested on a newly opened oyster-shop, on a magnificent 
scale, with natives laid, one deep, in circular marble 
basins in the windows, together with little round barrels 
of oysters directed to Lords and Baronets, and Colonels 
and Captains, in every part of the habitable globe. 

Behind the natives were the barrels, and behind the 
barrels was a young lady of about five-and-twenty, all in 
blue, and all alone — splendid creature, charming face, 
and lovely figure ! It is difficult to say whether Mr. John 
Bounce’s red countenance, illuminated as it was by the 
flickering gas-light in the window before which he paused, 
excited the lady's risibility, or whether a natural exuber- 
ance of animal spirits proved too much for that staidness 


MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. DOUNCE. 32? 
« 

of demeanor which the forms of society rather dictato- 
riaily prescribe. But certain it is that the lady smiled ; 
then put her finger upon her lip, with a striking recollec- 
tion of what was due to herself; and finally retired, in 
oyster-like bashfulness, to the very back of the counter. 
The sad-dog sort of feeling came strongly upon John 
Dounce: he lingered — the lady in blue made no sign. 
He coughed — still she came not. He entered the 
shop. 

“ Can you open me an oyster, my dear ? ”‘ said Mr. 
John Dounce. 

“ Dare say I can, sir,” replied the lady in blue, with 
playfulness. And Mr. John Dounce ate one oyster, and 
then looked at the young lady, and then ate another, and 
then squeezed the young lady’s hand as she was opening 
the third, and so forth, until he had devoured a dozen of 
those at eightpence in less than no time. 

“ Can you open me half a dozen more, my dear ? ’* 
inquired Mr. John Dounce. 

“ I’ll see what I can do for you, sir,” replied the young 
lady in blue, even more bewitchingly than before ; and 
Mr. John Dounce ate half a dozen more of those at eight- 
pence. 

“ You couldn’t manage to get me a glass of brandy- 
and-water, my dear, I suppose ? ” said Mr. John Dounce, 
when he had finished the oysters ; in a tone which clearly 
implied his supposition that she could. 

“ I’ll see, sir,” said the young lady ; and away she ran 
cut of the shop, and down the street, her long auburn 
ringlets shaking in the wind in the most enchanting 
manner ; and back she came again, tripping over the 
coal-cellar lids like a whipping-top, with a tumbler of 
brandy-and-water, which Mr. John Dounce insisted on 


328 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


her taking a share of, as it was regular ladies’ grog — 
hot, strong, sweet, and plenty of it. 

So, the young lady sat down with Mr. John Dounce ; 
in a little red box with a green curtain, and took a small 
sip of the brandy-and-water, and a small look at Mr. 
John Dounce, and then turned her head away, and went 
through various other serio-pantomimic fascinations which 
forcibly reminded Mr. John Dounce of the first time he 
courted his first wife, and which made him feel more 
affectionate than ever ; in pursuance of which affection, 
and actuated by which feeling, Mr. John Dounce 
sounded the young lady on her matrimonial engage- 
ments, when the young lady denied having formed any 
such engagements at all — she couldn’t abear the men, 
they were such deceivers ; thereupon Mr. John Dounce 
inquired whether this sweeping condemnation was meant 
to include other than very young men ; on which the 
young lady blushed deeply — at least she turned away 
her head, and said Mr. John Dounce had made her 
blush, so of course she did blush — and Mr. John 
Dounce was a long time drinking the brandy-and-water ; 
and, at last, John Dounce w,ent home to bed, and dreamed 
of his first wife, and his second wife, and the young lady, 
and partridges, and oysters, and brandy-and-water, and 
disinterested attachments. 

The next morning, John Dounce was rather feverish 
with the extra brandy-and-water of the previous night ; 
and partly in the hope of cooling himself with an oyster, 
and partly with the view of ascertaining whether he 
owed the young lady anything, or not, went back to the 
oyster-shop. If the young lady had appeared beautiful 
by night, she was perfectly irresistible by day ; and, from 
this time forward, a change came over the spirit of John 


MISPLACED ATTACHMENT OF MR. ©OUNCE. 329 


Dounce’s dream. He bought shirt-pins ; wore a ring on 
his third finger ; read poetry ; bribed a cheap miniature- 
painter to perpetuate a faint resemblance to a youthful 
face, with a curtain over his head, six large books in the 
background, and an open country in the distance (this he 
called his portrait) ; “ went on ” altogether in such an 
uproarious manner, that the three Miss Dounces went 
off on small pensions, he having made the tenement in 
Cursitor Street too warm to contain them ; and in short, 
comported and demeaned himself in every respect like 
an unmitigated old Saracen, as he was. 

As to his ancient friends, the other old boys, at the Sir 
Somebody’s Head, he dropped off from them by gradual 
degrees ; for, even when he did go there, Jones — vulgar 
fellow that Jones — persisted in asking “ when it was 
to be ? ” and, “ whether he was to have any gloves ? ” 
together with other inquiries of an equally offensive na- 
ture : at which not only Harris laughed, but Jennings 
also ; so, he cut the two, altogether, and attached him- 
self solely to the blue young lady at the smart oyster- 
shop. 

Now comes the moral of the story — for it has a moral 
after all. The last-mentioned young lady, having de- 
rived sufficient profit and emolument from John Dounce’s 
attachment, not only refused, when matters came to a 
crisis, to take him for better for worse, but expressly de- 
clared, to use her own forcible words, that she “ wouldn’t 
have him at no price;” and John Dounce, having lost 
his old friends, alienated his relations, and rendered him- 
self ridiculous to everybody, made offers successively to 
a schoolmistress, a landlady, a feminine tobacconist, and 
a housekeeper ; and, being directly rejected by each and 
every of them, was accepted by his cook, with whom he 


830 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


now lives, a henpecked husband, a melancholy monu- 
ment of antiquated misery, and a living warning to all 
uxorious old boys. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

TIIE MISTAKEN MILLINER. A TALE OF AMBITION. 

Miss Amelia Martin was pale, tallish, thin, and 
two - and - thirty — what ill-natured people would call 
plain, and police reports interesting. She was a milliner 
and dressmaker, living on her business and not above it 
If you had been a young lady in service, and had wanted 
Miss Martin, as a great many young ladies in service 
did, you would just have stepped up, in the evening, to 
number forty-seven, Drummond Street, George Street, 
Euston Square, and after casting your eye on a brass 
door-plate, one foot ten by one and a half, ornamented 
with a great brass knob at each of the four corners, and 
bearing the inscription “ Miss Martin ; millinery and 
dressmaking, in all its branches ; ” you’d just have 
knocked two loud knocks at the street-door ; and down 
would have come Miss Martin herself, in a merino gown 
of the newest fashion, black velvet bracelets on the gen- 
teelest principle, and other little elegances of the mosi 
approved description. 

If Miss Martin knew the young lady who called, oi 
if the young lady who called had been recommended by 
any other young lady whom Miss Martin knew, Miss 
Martin would forthwith show her up-stairs into the two 


THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. 


331 


pair front, and chat she would — so kind, and so com 
fortable it really wasn’t like a matter of business, she 
was so friendly ; and, then Miss Martin, after contem- 
plating the figure and general appearance of the young 
lady in service with great apparent admiration, would 
say how well she would look, to-be-sure, in a low dress 
with short sleeves : made very full in the skirts, with 
four tucks in the bottom ; to which the young lady in 
service would reply in terms expressive of her entire 
concurrence in the notion, and of the virtuous indigna- 
tion with which she reflected on the tyranny of “ Missis,” 
who wouldn’t allow a young girl to wear a short sleeve 
of an arternoon — no, nor nothing smart, not even a pair 
of ear-rings; let alone hiding people’s heads of hair 
under them frightful caps. At the termination of this 
complaint, Miss Amelia Martin would distantly suggest 
certain dark suspicions that some people were jealous on 
account of their own daughters, and were obliged to 
keep their servants’ charms under, for fear they should 
get married first, which was no uncommon circumstance 
— leastways she had known two or three young ladies in 
service, who had married a great deal better than their 
mississes, and they were not very good-looking either ; 
and then the young lady would inform Miss Martin, in 
confidence, that how one of their young ladies was en- 
gaged to a young man and was agoing to be married, 
and Missis was so proud about it there was no bearing 
of her ; but how she needn’t hold her head quite so high 
neither, for, after all, he was only a clerk. Anl, after 
expressing due contempt for clerks in general, and the 
engaged clerk in particular, and the highest opinion pos- 
sible of themselves and each other, Miss Martin and the 
young lady in service would bid each other good night, 


332 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


in a friendly but perfectly genteel manner : and the onf 
went back to her “ place,” and the other, to her room on 
the second-floor front. 

There is no saying how long Miss Amelia Martin 
might have continued this course of life ; how extensive 
a connection she might have established among young 
ladies in service ; or what amount her demands upon 
their quarterly receipts might have ultimately attained, 
had not an unforeseen train of circumstances directed 
her thoughts to a sphere of action very different from 
dressmaking or millinery. 

A friend of Miss Martin’s who had long been keeping 
company with an ornamental painter and decorator’s jour- 
neyman, at last consented (on being at last asked to do 
so) to name the day which would make the aforesaid 
journeyman a happy husband. It was a Monday that 
was appointed for the celebration of the nuptials, and 
Miss Amelia Martin was invited, among others, to honor 
the wedding-dinner with her presence. It was a charm- 
ing party ; Somers’ town the locality, and a front-parlor 
the apartment. The ornamental painter and decorator’s 
jou meyman had taken a house — no lodgings nor vul- 
ganly of that kind, but a house — four beautiful rooms, 
and a delightful little washhouse at the end of the 
passage — which was the most convenient thing in the 
world, for the bridesmaids could sit in the front-parloi 
and receive the company, and then run into the little 
washhouse and see how the pudding and boiled pork 
were getting on in the copper, and then pop back into 
the parlor again, as snug and comfortable as possible. 
And such a parlor as it was ! Beautiful Kidderminster 
carpet — six bran-new cane-bottomed stained chairs — 
three wine-glasses and a tumbler on each sideboard — 


THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. 


333 


farmer’s girl and farmer’s boy on the mantel-piece : girl 
tumbling over a stile, and boy spitting himself, on the 
handle of a pitchfork — long white dimity curtains in 
the window — and, in short, everything on the mos* 
genteel scale imaginable. 

Then, the dinner. There was baked leg of mutton at 
the top, boiled leg of mutton at the bottom, pair of fowls 
and leg of pork in the middle ; porter-pots at the corners; 
pepper, mustard, and vinegar in the centre ; vegetables 
on the floor ; and plum-pudding and apple-pie and tart- 
lets without number : to say nothing of cheese, and cel- 
ery, and water cresses, and all that sort of thing. As to 
the company ! Miss Amelia Martin herself declared, on 
a subsequent occasion, that, much as she had heard of 
the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s connection, she 
never could have supposed it was half so genteel. There 
was his father, such a funny old gentleman — and his 
mother, such a dear old lady — and his sister, such a 
charming girl — and his brother, such a manly-looking 
young man — with such a eye ! But even all these were 
as nothing when compared with his musical friends, Mr. 
and Mrs. Jennings Rodolph, from White Conduit, with 
whom the ornamental painter’s journeyman had been for- 
tunate enough to contract an intimacy while engaged in 
decorating the concert-room of that noble institution. 
To hear them sing separately, was divine, 1 ut when they 
went through the tragic duet of “ Red Ruffian, retire ! ” 
it was, as Miss Martin afterwards remarked, “ thrilling.” 
And why (as Mr. Jennings Rodolph observed), why were 
they not engaged at one of the patent theatres ? If he 
was to be told that their voices were not powerful enough 
to fill the House, his only reply was, that he would back 
himself for any amount to fill Russell Square — a state- 


334 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


ment in which the company, after hearing the duet, 
expressed their full belief ; so they all said it was shame- 
ful treatment ; and both Mr. and Mrs. Jennings Rodolph 
said it was shameful too ; and Mr. Jennings Rodolph 
looked very serious, and said he knew who his malignant 
opponents were, but they had better take care how far 
they went, for if they irritated him too much he had not 
quite made up his mind whether he wouldn’t bring the 
subject before Parliament ; and they all agreed that it 
“ ’ud serve ’em quite right, and it was very proper that 
such people should be made an example of.” So Mr. 
Jennings Rodolph said he’d think of it. 

When the conversation resumed its former tone, Mr. 
Jennings Rodolph claimed his right to call upon a lady, 
and the right being conceded, trusted Miss Martin would 
favor the company — a proposal which met with unani- 
mous approbation, whereupon Miss Martin, after sundry 
hesitatings and coughings, with a preparatory choke or 
two, and an introductory declaration that she was fright- 
ened to death to attempt it before such great judges of 
the art, commenced a species of treble chirruping con- 
taining frequently allusions to some young gentleman of 
the name of Hen-e-ry, with an occasional reference to 
madness and broken hearts. Mr. Jennings Rodolph fre- 
quently interrupted the progress of the song, by ejacu- 
lating “ Beautiful ! ” — “ Charming ! ” — “ Brilliant ! ” — 
“ Oh ! splendid,” &c. ; and at its close the admiration of 
himself, and his lady, knew no bounds. 

u Did you ever hear so sweet a voice, my dear ? ” in- 
quired Mr. Jennings Rodolph of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph. 

“ Never ; indeed I never did, love ; ” replied Mrs. Jen- 
nings Rodolph. 

“ Don’t you think Miss Martin, with a little cultiva 


THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. 


8S5 


tion, would be very like Signora Marra Boni, my dear?’ 
asked Mr. Jennings Rodolph. 

“Just exactly the very thing that struck me, my 
love,” answered Mrs. Jennings Rodolph. 

And thus the time passed away ; Mr. Jennings Ro- 
dolph played tunes on a walking-stick, and then wen 
behind the parlor-door and gave his celebrated imitations 
of actors, edge-tools, and animals ; Miss Martin sang 
several other songs with increased admiration every 
time ; and even the funny old gentleman began sing- 
ing. His song had properly seven verses, but as he 
couldn’t recollect more than the first one, he sang that 
over, seven times, apparently very much to his own per- 
sonal gratification. And then all the company sang the 
national anthem with national independence — each for 
himself, without reference to the other — and finally sep- 
arated : all declaring that they never had spent so pleas- 
ant an evening : and Miss Martin inwardly resolving to 
adopt the advice of Mr. Jennings Rodolph, and to “ come 
out ” without delay. 

Now u coming out,” either in acting, or singing, or 
society, or facetiousness, or anything else, is all very 
well, and remarkably pleasant to the individual prin- 
cipally concerned, if he or she can but manage to come 
out with a burst, and being out, to keep out, and not go 
in again ; but, it does unfortunately happen that both 
consummations are extremely difficult to accomplish, and 
that the difficulties, of getting out at all in the first in- 
stance, and if you surmount them, of keeping out in the 
second, are pretty much on a par, and no slight ones 
either — and so Miss Amelia Martin shortly discovered. 
It is a singular fact (there being ladies in the case) that 
Miss Amelia Martin’s principal foible was vanity, and 


336 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 


the leading characteristic of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph an 
attachment to dress. Dismal wailings were heard to 
issue from the second floor front, of number forty* seven, 
Drummond Street, George Street, Euston Square ; it 
was Miss Martin practising. Half-suppressed murmurs 
disturbed the calm dignity of the White Conduit orches- 
tra at the commencement of the season. It was the 
appearance of Mrs. Jennings Rodolph in full dress, that 
occasioned them. Miss Martin studied incessantly — 
the practising was the consequence. Mrs. Jennings Ro- 
dolph taught gratuitously now and then — the dresses 
were the result. 

Weeks passed away ; the White Conduit season had 
begun, had progressed, and was more than half over. 
The dressmaking business had fallen off, from neglect ; 
and its profits had dwindled away almost imperceptibly. 
A benefit - night approached; Mr. Jennings Rodolph 
yielded to the earnest solicitations of Miss Amelia 
Martin, and introduced her personally to the “ comic 
gentleman ” whose benefit it was. The comic gentleman 
was all smiles and blandness — he had composed a duet, 
expressly for the occasion, and Miss Martin should sing 
it with him. The night arrived ; there was an immense 
room — ninety -seven sixpenn’ortlis of gin -and -water, 
thirty-two small glasses of brandy-and-water, five-and- 
twenty bottled ales, and forty-one neguses ; and the 
ornamental painter’s journeyman, with his wife and a 
select circle of acquaintance, were seated at one of the 
side -tables near the orchestra. The concert began. Song 
— sentimental — by a light-haired young gentleman in 
a blue coat, and bright basket buttons [applause]. An- 
other song, doubtful, by another gentleman in another 
bl ue coat and more bright basket buttons — [increased 


THE MISTAKEN MILLINER. 


337 


applause]. Duet, Mr. Jennings Rodolph, and Mrs. Jen- 
nings Rodolph, “ Red Ruffian retire ! ” — [great ap- 
plause]. Solo, Miss Julia Montague (positively on this 
occasion only) — “I am a Friar” — [enthusiasm]. Orig- 
inal duet, comic — Mr. H. Taplin (the comic gentleman) 
and Miss Martin — “ The Time of Day.” “ Brayvo ! 
— Brayvo ! ” cried the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s 
party, as Miss Martin was gracefully led in by the comic 
gentleman. “ Go to work, Harry,” cried the comic gen- 
tleman’s personal friends. “ Tap — tap — tap,” went the 
leader’s bow on the music-desk. The symphony began, 
and was soon afterwards followed by a faint kind of ven- 
triloquial chirping, proceeding apparently from the deep- 
est recesses of the interior of Miss Amelia Martin. 
u Sing out ” — shouted one gentleman in a white great- 
coat. “ Don’t be afraid to put the steam on, old gal,” ex- 
claimed another. “ S — s — s — s — s — s — s ” — went the 
five-and-twenty bottled ales. “ Shame, shame ! ” remon- 
strated the ornamental painter’s journeyman’s party — 
“ S — s — s — s ” went the bottled ales again, accompanied 
by all the gins, and a majority of the brandies. 

“ Turn them geese out,” cried the ornamental painter’s 
journeyman’s party, with great indignation. 

“ Sing out,” whispered Mr. Jennings Rodolph. 

“ So I do,” responded Miss Amelia Martin. 

“ Sing louder,” said Mrs. Jennings Rodolph. 

“ I can’t,” replied Miss Amelia Martin. 

“ Off, off, off,” cried the rest of the audience. 

“ Bray- vo ! ” shouted the painter’s party. It wouldn’t 
do — Miss Amelia Martin left the orchestra, with much 
less ceremony than she had entered it ; and, as she 
couldn’t sing out, never came out. The general good- 

humor was not restored until Mr. Jennings Rodolph had 
vol. i. 22 


SKETCHES BY BOZ. 




become purple in the face, by imitating divers quadru- 
ped for half an hour, without being able to render him- 
self audible ; and, to this day, neither has Miss Amelia 
Martin’s good-humor been restored, nor the dresses made 
for and presented to Mrs. Jennings Rodolph, nor the 
vocal abilities which Mr. Jennings Rodolph once staked 
his professional reputation that Miss Martin possessed. 


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